Someone I Used to Know
by Mid-Nite-Potter
Summary: In the aftermath of helping Sherlock, Molly is faced with a life very different from what she was use to.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: didn't really write this with a plan and suddenly I had 8 chapters almost done. Oddly, I'm still writing this without much of a plan. But, so far I've been enjoying writing it. Hopefully, its liked and I love the feedback (preferably positive!) Also, I'd happily accept anyone interested in being a beta for me? Send me a message if you are interested. My titles more often than not are the song I'm listening to on repeat at the time of starting the story. That being said, I think it will play into the story in a way as it goes along. _

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><p><strong>Somebody I Used to Know<strong>

**Chapter 1**

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><p>How do you act at a funeral when you know the person in the casket isn't the person everyone thinks? How do you play the girl that was always unnoticed, when you now know that isn't true? So very very untrue.<p>

How do you face a man's best friend, when you were the person that changed the dead man's DNA records? Is it possible to lie to so many people at once and convince them you are just as devastated as they are?

In the end, I did go. I wore an old black dress, the same one I had worn to my father's funeral, and a black coat. I didn't wear my contacts. My eyes always looked a little red when I wore glasses and I hoped to hide behind them, just a bit. I knew it would be hard for me to cry when I knew the truth.

I had had tea with the man in the casket the day after his death. In the past week, he had been in my flat twice. Letting himself in while I was at work. The first time, he just sat there silently as I made tea. He wasn't on a case so it was good that I had stopped at the store on my way home. The second time I came home to him sitting at my kitchen table, tea made. It was oddly domestic and so unlike him.

We didn't talk much, which I was use to with him, but when he did, it was so different from any conversation we had had in the past.

I sat near the middle of the church. I wasn't John, his best friend, or Mrs. Hudson, his landlady. They sat together in the second row adjacent from Mycroft. I knew he would recognize me; Mycroft always had an eye out for his brother and he knew everyone Sherlock associated with, even if they weren't the most important in the eyes of some.

The service was a blur. Through all of it, John looked ill. Mrs. Hudson sobbed into John's shoulder. Mycroft didn't show a reaction. I assumed the people sitting around him were other relatives of Sherlock's. I couldn't help but wonder if they believed the papers or not. Not that it truly matter.

Lestrade, sat behind me. I wasn't able to see his reaction, but I knew he was watching me.

_Kittens being run over. Starving children. Someone kicking a puppy. _

I can't cry on demand.

_My father's death. _

Even that couldn't do the trick.

How do you pretend to mourn someone you know is alive and well.

Most likely driving my cat insane at this moment, or in the near future.

I hoped Lestrade was convinced my lack of tears was more from being faced with death daily rather than something else.

Going to the grave site was the most painful part and real tears found their way out of my eyes. Not because I was standing in front of his grave but because of the anguish on the faces of John, Mrs. Hudson, and even Lestrade.

As they lowered the casket, I had to look away. I was surprised to feel a hand on my back and realized Lestrade had walked over to my side.

"He was a great man." He said. "He was so close to being a good man even."

I nodded my head and let myself be hugged. I knew it gave more comfort to lestrade than me.

As the dirt began to pile on top of the casket that held some unknown man that looked a bit like Sherlock, people began to move around, talking softly to each other.

A still weeping Mrs. Hudson hugged me tightly, clinging to me. I held her and said nothing. There were no words I could say on this day to comfort any of them. Not when the only thing I wanted to tell them, needed to tell them to end all of the grief, was the only thing I couldn't say.

I wanted to shout that he was alive from the tallest tree, but I couldn't and so I remained silent.

"You were always such a dear calling to let me know that he had stayed in the lab late and coming to collect things from the flat when he forgot to take them back." Mrs. Hudson said as she pulled away from me slightly. "I had always hoped that… well I guess there's no point in saying it now."

She hugged me tightly again, offering me comfort. Comfort I didn't deserve.

Next I was face to face with John. The moment I dreaded. How do you lie to someone's best friend? The look of illness was still on John's face and I worried he'd lose the contents of his stomach at any moment. He had seen it all, nearly had a front row seat. He saw everything Sherlock wanted him to, and that memory would possibly haunt John more than all of his memories from Afghanistan.

"Oh John!" I whispered and hugged him tightly, much like Mrs. Hudson had done to me. I couldn't keep looking at his face and not burst. "I'm so sorry." John didn't need to know what I really meant.

"Thank-you," He said stiffly. He returned the hug briefly before pulling away. He nodded to Lestrade, and I wondered if John held any of this against the other man.

"I think I'll wait in the car. Molly would you mind walking Mrs. Hudson over when she is ready?" John retreated from us quickly and didn't stop until he reach the row of rented cars, most likely Mycroft's doing.

I silently followed behind Mrs. Hudson as she greeted a few others she recognized. Once she reached Mycroft, I oddly found myself hoping she would hug him, only to see the reaction. I knew describing the look of shock on the older Holme's face would be fun the next time I saw Sherlock. I suddenly found myself having trouble containing my smirk at the mere idea. I quickly reached for the tissues I knew were balled up in my coat pocket.

After a brief conversation with Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson turned back to me and indicated she was ready to walk over to the cars and meet John.

"Poor boy. I think John was more of a brother to Sherlock sometimes rather than Mycroft. But then Mycroft was always there for him as well. He seems to be taking this well though. Not that I expected a large show of emotions from anyone in the Holmes family. Even his own mother seemed rather stoic, but I suppose that makes sense." Mrs. Hudson rambled.

I paused at the mention of the mother of Mycroft and Sherlock. I hadn't fully realized that she was the older woman who had sat beside Mycroft during the service. It made sense. She has the same pale complexion as her son. When I turned to get a last glimpse of her I also noticed, she has his eyes.

Once I returned Mrs. Hudson safely to John and the waiting car, I declined her offer to go with them for tea and left her with promises of stopping round for tea sometime in the next week. I found a waiting cab near the entrance of the cemetery.

"Please, please don't ask me any questions and just take me to my address." I said as I climbed in giving the address to my one room basement flat, that was close to St. Bart's.

Thankfully, the cabbie remained silent as he navigated the City traffic and delivered me safely in front of my building. I paid him, making sure the tip was a little better than I would normally give. I felt bad for snapping at him as soon as I got in. As I got out of the cab, I looked down and noticed Toby wasn't in his favorite people watching spot.

"I should get an extra key made." I sighed as I walked through the door and dropped my keys on the small table beside the door.

"I don't see why." Came the reply from my small kitchen table.

"It isn't normal to have tea with a person whose funeral you just attended," I replied as I removed my coat and kicked off my shoes. In the past week, I had found my voice again and for the most part, stopped being the meek Molly Hopper. Or at least, the less meek version.

"Normally the person is dead too," He replied pouring tear into my cup.

"The only moment that I didn't want to scream out the truth was when I saw Mrs. Hudson hug your brother," I said sitting down and finally allowing myself a smirk at the image.

"Mother must have loved that." He replied. Behind his cup I could tell he was also smirking.

"John is devastated," I said turning our shared smirks somber.

"I suppose he is. It's not every day you see someone jump from a building."

"It's not every day your best friend tells you that he is a fake and makes you watch him jump." I sighed and took a sip from my tea, a dash of milk, one sugar. If I wasn't so distraught by the thought of John, I may have let it get to me that Sherlock knew how I took my tea.

"When are you going to tell him?" I asked pulling myself from thoughts of my tea.

"When the time is right. If it is ever right." He replied.

"Until then?" I asked.

"Mycroft knows," He said. "We could have fooled him, but then I'd be stuck living on your… well I suppose you don't really have couch."

"I could have gotten one." I replied. The idea of sharing my tiny flat with Sherlock wasn't really something I had thought of. Sure I thought of hundreds of reason why he may stop by and what it could lead to, but now facing our reality, my fantasies were far from the front of my mind, but not completely forgotten.

"No this is better. Your neighbors would find it odd if a man suddenly started living in your flat. One passed me as I was letting myself in. She was already pretty certain you were a cat lady or just weren't interested in men." He paused at this and I couldn't argue. It wasn't like I had much time to be here anyway with work taking up much of my life and because of the size of my flat, I usually met friends elsewhere.

"I'll have access to funds, a new identity or two, and can travel around and keep myself busy."

"So you are leaving the country?" I asked not sure if I wanted the answer. He could easily leave. Staying in London would only lead to the possibility of him being spotted. But whatever this was between us now, I suppose it was friendship even though I found myself hoping over time, maybe, it would be more. He was still Sherlock, faking his death didn't change that, but maybe he wouldn't be able to let his work eat away so much of his life now. It wasn't like he could openly continue his work, and even if he changed his appearance, fooled everyone into thinking he was someone else, would Scotland Yard really be willing to trust someone they thought was just a Sherlock copycat?

"Not yet. I plan to track down Moriarty's entire network. When that leads me out of country, I will."

"Where… where have you been staying?" I asked.

He was silent for a moment. He looked angry at the subject and I wondered if he would even answer me.

"The Holmes family home. Not that any Holmes live there permanently anymore. Mycroft considers it his 'county home' and stays from time to time. Mother prefers to live along the coast now. I think I'd prefer your couch or floor over my childhood room. Mycroft was supposed to procure something else. It will spark more than a few questions if the youngest Holmes is seen so soon after his death. The staff isn't the sort to really tell, but you can't be too safe."

John had mentioned he liked to sulk in between cases. Small things would annoy him. Obviously this was one of them.

"So you leave your hideout to have tea with me and drive my cat mad?" At the moment Toby was most likely under my bed as far from Sherlock as he could get. It interested me that Sherlock thought of me as a distraction and the thoughts in the back of my mind threatened to creep forward.

"You've been offered some time off." It was said as a statement. No matter how whole heartedly I believed in him, sometime he still surprised me with the things he was able to figure out.

"I never take holidays, but after this past week, my boss knows that you were in often. He thinks I'm some delicate flower and even though I'm surrounded by death daily, he doesn't think I'm handling yours the way I should be."

"You took two weeks off when your father died. A day for your fish."

"How'd you… never mind. It's you, of course you know." I sighed looking at the wall.

"Would you…" he hesitated. He never hesitated. Ever. "Take the time off. Tell your boss you've book a holiday."

What started as a questioned turned almost into a command, but I didn't plan on saying no.

"Have I?" I paused wondering why he had decided this was the best course of action for me.

"I'm getting tired of traveling so far for tea." A statement with a hidden invitation.

"When do I leave? I promised… I promised Mrs. Hudson I'd stop round for tea sometime soon," I wanted him to actually ask the question, But I knew he wouldn't.

"I'll have Mycroft send a car to pick you up from Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson, and John if he is there, won't find it odd. Mycroft has been keeping a close eye on everyone for the past week. They will just think that he is doing the same for you. Leave your things here. They will get picked up before you are."


	2. Chapter 2

A/n: I'd first like to thank everyone who reviewed, favorited the story and added this to your alert list. I was really worried how it would be received and all of your responses were a great encouragement. My original plan was to update once a week, as it's already Wednesday, I've already failed. So here is Chapter number 2. In all honesty, it's a bit of filler, but chapter 3 as it is now, is twice the length of this one. I'm hoping to have chapter 3 up by Sunday or Monday, but I won't make any promises. Also, I'm still in need of a Beta so if you or someone you know is interested please send me a message. Mostly I need a second pair of eyes to check the chapters over and to maybe bounce ideas off of from time to time.

Finally, I forgot this the last time but – I own nothing.

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><p><strong><em><em>**

**Someone I used to know**

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><p><strong><em>Chapter 2<em>**

Coming face to face with 221B Baker Street was more difficult than I could have imagined. I knew he was alive. I'd being seeing him in just a few hours and yet looking at the door still depressed me.

Maybe it was because I knew the pain the two people who lived behind the door were enduring.

To my luck, Mrs. Hudson had moved on in her stages of grieving and for the most part and was her usual self, though not as cheerful.

"Come in dear, Come in," She said as she all but pushed me into her kitchen at the back of the house. "I'm hoping John will make it back while you are here. I told him you were coming round. Poor boy, he's been taking this so hard. It's so quite up there all the time now. Even the movers Mycroft sent over didn't make much noise. It can't be easy for John to be in a mostly empty flat. The Movers didn't take everything, there are still medical supplies here and there, no body parts luckily." She said all of this as she poured tea out of the waiting pot she had set out for my visit. I couldn't help but notice the two extra cups sitting on her tray. I knew one was for John and I hoped she wasn't still putting out a cup for Sherlock.

Perhaps she had invited Lestrade over. We could have a 'friends of Sherlock' reunion. Lovely. Completely unsafe also if what Sherlock alluded to about Moriarty still having associates out watching us. I didn't need to worry about a possible attack while also trying to keep myself from shouting the truth at any moment.

"I must say, I'm quite impressed with you, Molly. You really seem to be holding yourself together well," Mrs. Hudson said after a few moments of silence between us.

"I…" I needed to choose my words carefully. Mrs. Hudson could tell how I felt… Feel about Sherlock. I had to play the girl who never got her chance with a man she loved. I had been putting on a strong face ever since that horrible Christmas party, but Mrs. Hudson somehow always knew that I kept my feelings for him. "I've just tried not to think about it, to be honest."

It was the truth. The thought of what I had helped with the faked death made me feel ill at times. I was never one to cause anyone pain, and yet I had helped Sherlock cause so much pain.

"I actually booked a holiday. I haven't taken time off in a long time and my boss was worried about me."

This was all true.

"On your own? Dear I really don't see how that will help you," Mrs. Hudson's concern for me shined brightly.

"I won't be… alone that is," Also not a lie. "I'm meeting a friend in the country. They have a small house and offered for me to stay. They knew getting away from the City for a while would help me and we haven't seen much of each other in recent years."

"A male friend perhaps?" She had a sparkle in her eye. "I know you had feels for… for Sherlock, but it would be nice to see you move on dear. I know you've been trying and as much as I hate to say it, he really is gone. I had hoped of course, we both had, but no sense in that now."

For the first time since I had arrived I could see the tears begin to threaten a release in her eyes.

"My track record isn't really the best," I replied. "I'm just going to let things in life come to me instead of chasing them myself. But that isn't really the point of this Holiday. My friend also recently went through a bit of a tragedy, and so we figured we could help each other."

At this I heard the door open and footsteps leading into the room.

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson, Molly," John said from the doorway. "I was just…"

"Sitting down for tea with us." Mrs. Hudson said as she stood to make more hot water.

"Right," he said before taking the seat beside me. "How have you been Molly?"

He was trying painfully hard to be polite. I could tell he didn't want to in this situation. Maybe he just wanted to go upstairs and think on his own, which was probably how he had been spending most of his time recently.

"I'm well," I said softly.

"She was just telling me about her holiday she is preparing for," Mrs. Hudson added.

"That's nice," He said absent mindedly.

Mrs. Hudson carried on most of the conversation for the rest of my visit. As I checked my watch I knew my car would be there soon.

As I said my good byes to the two, no questions were asked about the car waiting outside for me. Obviously Sherlock was right and Mycroft had been looking after all of us. I wondered how much of that was Mycroft's doing and how much was Sherlock's.

After nearly two hours in the car, I was surprised to see a small cottage home covered in vines and surrounded by a stone fence on all sides come into view as the car slowed down.

When the car came to a stop, I let myself out and waited as the driver pulled my things out of the boot.

"Would you like me to carry these in for you?" He asked as she shut the boot.

"No, no thank you I can handle it from here," I said with a small smile. The driver gave me a nod and handed me my bags and a key before opening the gate at the end of the path leading the cottage.

"Thank you," I said again before walking to the door and placing the key in the lock like it was exactly as I expected.

As I walked through the door I was greeting with the sound of Violin music coming from the back room. I sat my things down and walked towards the music and found Sherlock looking out the window while playing. He had the same look on his face he so often wore in the lab and I knew he was in mid thought so I just sat down in one of the chairs and waited.

I also took the chance to observe him. His hair was a different color and much shorter than I had ever seen it. Beyond that we was still wearing the same style of clothing, dress shirt with the top few buttons undone, dark grey pants and dress shoes. On the chair beside him a dressing gown had been discarded.

His face, though he was completely lost in the music he was playing, still looked sad. There was no one there for him to pretend for.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/n:** First off I'd like to apologize for the length in between chapters._

_Next, I'd like to give a huge thank-you to you two betas, Amalia Kensington and coloradoandcolorado1. They were both huge helps with this chapter!_

_Finally, Thank you to everyone who is reading, reviewing, adding the story as a favorite and adding alerts. Each email alert I get brings a smile to my face!_

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><p><strong>Someone I Used to Know<strong>

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 3<strong>_

When fantasizing about him, I don't think I ever really stopped to consider what living with the real Sherlock would actually be like. We had spent time with each other during his visits to the morgue, but he was always working then. When we had tea together, we were together for a few hours with no work between us. But I don't think either experience could prepare me for being around him constantly.

We barely spoke for the first night I was there. The next morning wasn't much better, my "good morning" being received by nothing more than a mumbled response and I tried not to be too disappointed. I had finally resigned myself to a quiet day to myself in the front room when I felt him drop himself unceremoniously beside me, slumped into the sofa.

"Lunch?" he asked.

"Sure, just let me finish this chapter," I replied.

"It's predictable," he said, standing back up.

"Don't ruin it for me," I replied not looking back up. I expected to hear him walk towards the kitchen, but instead he walked up the stairs where the three bedrooms were located. I managed to finish my chapter before he returned to the room dressed completely differently from anything I had seen him in the past. I hadn't even realized he owned jeans, let alone wore them. He was also wearing a light sweater over a grey shirt and topped the look off with an old baseball cap that covered his newly short and lightened hairstyle.

"Do you… always dress in disguise for lunch?" I asked as I marked my place and set the book down.

"We're leaving the cottage," he replied.

There must have been a look of confusion on my face because he heaved a deep sigh and rolled his eyes. "Two weeks ago, every newspaper was running a photograph of my face on their front covers. Can't allow them to have something new to talk about, can we?"

I remembered reading in John's blog and hearing from John himself about Sherlock's various disguises. There had even been times he would walk into the morgue in either a partial disguise or completely taking on a different persona, until he opened his mouth.

As we walked outside, I realized I had taken much notice of the outside of the house. I suppose I was preoccupied with what was waiting for me inside. One of the things I missed was the car, a Land Rover, parked beside the cottage in the gravel driveway.

"You can drive?" I asked as we got into the car.

I didn't receive a response but rather a look from the corner of his eye.

I stayed silent as we drove into the small town close to the cottage and pulled into the car park for a local pub. As we walked towards the entrance, I felt him take my hand, pulling me closer to his side.

"Why don't you grab us a table and I'll put our order in?" he asked in a soft voice.

"How do you…"

"Chicken and chips. Pint of Cider."

"It's still a bit scary when you do that," I said with half a laugh before pulling my fingers back and turning to find an empty table. It was a Saturday and this seemed to be the popular place to go for lunch.

I found a seat near one of the windows and took the seat that also allowed me to see the bar. I couldn't help but smile as he talked to the barman, all smiles and charm. He looked relaxed and for a moment, I almost forgot that I was watching Sherlock Holmes. That is until he turned to face me and winked. I thought I knew a lot about Sherlock prior to the past few weeks, from his trips to the morgue, reading John's blog and more recently, our few meetings in my flat. But through all of that I had never witnessed how charming he could be when he wanted to be. I always knew somewhere inside was a person with feelings, emotions, and in recent months that part of him seemed to peek out more and more often, but never like this and never really around me. It felt like, for the first time, I was in on the joke.

He paid and grabbed our pints before he walked over to where I sat.

"So… so you do know how to interact with people!" I said in a sarcastic tone, or what I hope sounded slightly sarcastic. I was slowly getting more and more used to be around him and luckily my stammering only happened from time to time in front of him. It was something I had put an effort into over the past months and luckily it seemed to be paying off.

"I've come in here a few times, told the barman I had just moved into town. It helps me stay informed on what is going on in the area. It's far better than being the shadow that always plays the violin and never leaves his house."

"So who am I? Your sister?"

"Girlfriend, in from London for the week," he replied looking out the window as people passed.

"What happens when your real girlfriend comes to visit?" For some reason the image of the woman from the morgue flashed through my mind. He had obviously known her well and even though she was dead, she couldn't have been the only woman he knew… so well.

My comment earned a glance away from the window and a raised eyebrow. After a moment of hesitation, he reached across the table for my hand.

"Good thing Paul here warned us you were coming to town," the barman's voice breaking in as he brought out food over. "I think me wife was about to set him up with one of our daughters."

"That would have made things awkward, I'm sure," I replied with a smile, slipping into my role and trying not to sound too excited about it.

"He's a quiet one until you get him to open up," the barman replied setting my food in front of me.

"He is, but that's just Paul for you," I said still smiling. I barely noticed our hands were still joined on the table. "My mates didn't know what to think of him when they met him!"

"I'll let you two get back to your afternoon. Let me know if you need anything!" he said before returning to the bar.

"Paul?" I asked once the man was out of earshot.

"Would you have preferred something else? Jim?"

"Sher… Paul," I paused, not wanting to know where he would take this conversation. In my mind I liked to think the 'Jim' incident didn't happen. Besides, I was the one who ended it even before I knew who he really was. "This looks good," I managed to say as we both pulled our hands away from each other to eat.

"Would you like to see more of the town?" Sherlock, or really Paul, asked as we left the pub.

"Yeah that would be nice."

We walked in silence, hands laced together between us, looking through the small market that was set up.

So this wasn't something I could have pictured coming true, not to say that I hadn't pictured us walking hand in hand in a market acting like a normal couple. But wasn't it just that? An act. Right? It's an act because he needs a cover and a normal guy his age would most likely have a girlfriend or wife. So I'm more than likely just a prop in this new identity he has formed but I can't help the large part of me that, no matter the reason, is enjoying this. Obviously I needed to keep all of this to the side, especially my complete joy at the situation, but it was hard to stop the smile plastered on my face.

I was going to enjoy this, whatever is was as much as I could. It certainly would never help me get over him, but if I couldn't get over him at least I could enjoy this pretend game instead.

"It will be good for you to know the area when you come to visit." His voice was casual and matter of fact as his eyes glanced over the tables of merchandise.

I tucked my bottom lip between my teeth for a moment. "Will that… be often?"

"As often as a girlfriend with a full-time job in London can get away." He turned and gave me what I'd like to think of as the "Paul smile." Sherlock had his own smile he used when trying to persuade me to let him experiment on a body, but this one was slightly different. Oddly, it seemed more sincere.

"Of course I'll come to visit you from time to time," he went on. "People would think you were in a very selfish relationship if you were always the one…traveling,"

"What… What if I don't want this?" I did, but I felt a bit insulted that he had suddenly made this decision without even bothering to consult me. Typical.

"You do," he said, his tone dismissive.

"Did you think to ask? And what does this entail? Am I just someone you are using to help your cover seem more real and less like the real you? Don't you think it would seem odd that I go from being shell shocked over the death of the object of my unrequited… feelings…"

"Love."

"You are not helping, let me finish." I paused waiting to see if he would fulfill my request. Once I saw his eyebrow rise slightly I took it as my sign to continue. "How do I go from being brokenhearted over your death two days ago around everyone to suddenly being in a new relationship with a man I randomly decided to spend the past week with."

"You wanted me to ask you before I decided this was how we would proceed."

It was a statement.

"Molly, I need a cover because I can't stay trapped inside and I certainly will never tie up loose ends that will allow me to return without leaving the house. You said you would help. I want your help and I want you to be part of this. Mycroft, in exchange for helping me, has also requested I work on projects for him from time to time. I'll need someone—you—to help me."

"You used to do it all on your own."

"That's changed."

"I'm not John."

"I'd hope not."

"You'll need to consider my feelings. Don't give me that look either. I have feelings and I expect them to be respected. I'm normally a confident person and while I've turned into a puddle in the past when things concern you, I can't keep being walked over."

By this point we had moved to bench to sit down. I waited in silence as I saw my words working their way through his mind and we were both facing forward with our hands rest resting on the bench beside us.

"Emotions, feelings, relationships; I understand all of them, but I've always kept them separate from me. You've known me a while now; I don't let many people in. The people I do, I'm willing to die for."

"Or at least fake your death for," I interjected. This caused a soft chuckle and for Sherlock to lift his head and look me in the eyes.

"I told you before, you do count, Molly. I'll try to not take advantage of… this situation. If it stops working, I will—no, we—will take care of it."

"So we are just… What exactly?"

"You want labels."

"Yes.. no… I don't know." I paused and sighed. "I just want to know that I won't be walked all over and that you won't just take me for granted, like 'oh Molly will just drop everything for me when I ask.' That can't be how this goes."

"I understand."

We sat in silence, both looking forward at the open area in front of us. It was a nice day out and possibly one of the first truly nice days of spring. People were scattered across the green space reading, talking, interacting with each other. Kids were running around and couples were spending time in each other's presence. I wondered if we looked like we also belonged here. Me and… Paul.

"Will I introduce you to them?" I didn't need to say who.

"If we cross paths. When you see them, I suppose I will be mentioned and you'll mention Paul, but we need them to think its two different people. Once Mycroft has fully created my new identity, I'll be able to move around more, in and out of the country.

We sat there silently for a period of time, simply watching people come and go around us.

"Do you want to stay in town for dinner or go back to the cottage?" Sherlock asked after the sun began to dip closer to the horizon.

"We can go back," I replied, wondering if once we were back indoors things would go back to how they had been the previous night.

Once we returned the cottage, Sherlock discarded the hat and sweater, leaving them in a heap on a table in the hallway. He certainly wasn't the neatest person. I noticed a few other items in odd places, most likely where he sat them down, not giving much thought to putting them back in the proper place.

Without many words passing between us, we cooked a simple dinner and ate before going to different parts of the house, much like we had the night before. With my mind racing, I wasn't able to focus on my book again and instead turned my attention to the television in the front room. An hour or two later, I was lying in the couch watching _Bridget Jones' Diary_ when Sherlock paused at the doorway.

"Really you're watching this?" he asked as he walked over towards the small sofa. "You've seen it what… ten times… in the past three years?"

"Nine."

"This makes ten."

I rolled my eyes before tossing the remote in his general direction. I heard rather than saw him catch it and soon the channels skipped by as he looked for something that suited him. I moved into a sitting position as Sherlock sat lazily beside me. Some channels would stay on for a few moments while he made a comment or two before continuing. Fifteen minutes later found us back on the original channel.

A few hours later I awoke still sitting on the couch. I must have fallen asleep at some point during the movie and it took me a few moments to notice that we hadn't really moved much from our original position. The biggest difference was the arm around me and my head on Sherlock's shoulder. The blanket from the back of the sofa was now over us. My legs felt stiff from being curled underneath me. Ignoring my discomfort, I fell back asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/n: So sorry for the long delay. The original plan was to have this up before I left for vacation, but I fell behind with other things and since getting back, life has been non-stop. So I hope this doesn't disappoint._

_Like last time, I'd like to thank both of my betas, Amalia Kensington and coloradoandcolorado1. They have been giving me great feedback and its really helping to shape this story! I'd like to also thank Nocturnias for giving me a shout out in their story!_

_I own nothing. Period._

* * *

><p><strong>Someone I Used to Know<strong>

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 4<strong>_

* * *

><p>The week passed by relatively quietly, the most exciting thing being Sherlock and I falling into a routine of sorts. He would go hours without saying a word and at times, without even moving. I took to making my own plans for the day, enjoying the first stretch of time off I had had in years. By the third day I had gone through the few books I had grabbed for the week and found myself reading random books I found lying around the cottage.<p>

Much of the time we spent together was in public where Sherlock worked on honing his character of Paul. He could easily fool people who had only seen his face in the tabloids, but the real test would be in London. No one could mistake Paul for Sherlock or it could prove fatal for either or both of us, not to mention John, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. The physical appearance was just the start; he had also pitched his voice several octaves higher and added a slouch in his shoulders and even a slight shuffle in his step.

There are differences in our relationship, too, and in more ways than just the fake one we are doing our best to keep up. You could say that any relationship was better than the nonexistent one we used to have, and even more than the one in which I was the one that counted. I suppose you could now say that we were just good friends who were good at pretending to be together when in public. It was the only sane way I could see it.

I certainly couldn't stop myself from noticing the little things and thinking about them for hours after. How he'd hold my hand for a few moments longer that strictly needed. He would look at me, stare really, from time to time as though it was the first time he had ever really looked at me. While he hadn't been anywhere near as harsh to me since that Christmas two years ago, now it seemed he had learned when certain things didn't need to be said. It was...well, to be honest, it was quite nice.

The pub owner, whose name was George Jameson, always commented on what a good couple we made and it excited me to know that others saw something between us, but there other times I worried how much of this was just part of the act and if any of it was real.

Much of our interactions happen in public, but there were also times in private that Sherlock would surprise me by sitting beside me while we both read a book. Normally different books, but from time to time he'd lean on the back of my chair and read over my shoulder before making his own thoughts on the material known, whether it was Shakespeare or recent research study on sleep; he had an opinion and always shared it.

Maybe Sherlock was just acting this way towards me in public and private because it really was just part of his cover. I didn't dare try to ask him where his feelings lay. Just the idea of asking him about his feelings had me imagining the annoyed look I would receive, not to mention the return of the snide comments.

* * *

><p>After leaving the cottage at the end of the week, I returned to my life in London. After three days of not so much as a peep from Sherlock, I did my best to go about my life and not be too disappointed. Two days after that, I came home to find a note sitting on my table.<p>

_Mycroft finished my new identity. He's sent me out of the country to give it a test. I'll stop by when I get back. Keep an eye on John and Mrs. Hudson for me. I'll see you soon. Burn this after you read it. - SH_

"Keeping an eye" on Mrs. Hudson and John meant that I called and made plans to meet them both for dinner one night after work.

We went at an Indian restaurant within walking distance of the hospital. According to Mrs. Hudson it had been a push to get John to join us.

I was looking forward to seeing him, no matter how guilty I still felt, and would always feel, about keep the truth about Sherlock's fall a secret. Mrs. Hudson and John arrived together moments after I had taken a seat near the middle of the restaurant.

As the time passed, John mostly sat observing the world around him. He had taken the seat that allowed him to see into the kitchen and out the front windows with just a slight turn of his head either way. For the most part, the press had left him alone, with just the occasional photo of him running in the paper and very rarely on the front page. I suppose the media was fickle that way. The few tabloids I saw while at the cottage had Sherlock on the cover each edition, until they didn't. Some new scandal broke and then another one and soon, the fall of Sherlock, just weeks later, was old news.

Despite how fickle the press was, the fall of Sherlock Holmes, no matter how figurative that statement was to me, was still very newsworthy to the three of us. However, regardless of how much Sherlock was on our minds, we avoided directly talking about him. Mrs. Hudson shared news about her sister's grandchildren and how the renovations of Baker Street we going.

"You're leasing doesn't end soon on your flat is it, Molly?" Mrs. Hudson asked. She had finally decided to start work on fixing the basement flat that had stood empty for so long.

"It isn't, no," I replied as the thought of living there crossed my mind. It wouldn't, couldn't work for me. Not when it was a battle each time I saw them to keep the secret of Sherlock to myself.

John revealed very little about what he was up to, but I had learned from a colleague at Bart's that he had taken a post at the A&E in Whitechapel.

"How is your new position?" I asked as we passed dishes of spicy smelling food around the table.

"It's a job," he replied not really looking up from the Tikka Masala he was spooning onto his plate. I could tell from his tone that it could never compare to chasing clues and suspects with Sherlock. My heart ached for him.

The rest of dinner's conversation was mostly carried by Mrs. Hudson.

"How are things with your friend?" she asked as we finished eating. I was slightly surprised she hadn't asked sooner. "You seem to be doing better than the last time we saw you."

"He's fine. The week in the country was what I needed, I think. Obviously I'm not…" I stumbled with what to say. Did I tell them about Paul? Did I tell them that I was dating this friend I had never mentioned prior to Sherlock's death?

"I hope he is treating you well," she said.

"We're good," I said after a pause hoping Mrs. Hudson understood I didn't feel completely comfortable with the conversation.

"Good for you dear, you deserve some happiness in your life," she replied, patting my hand.

Once our bill arrived, we paid and walked out of the restaurant. Mrs. Hudson hailed a cab before giving each of us a hug good-bye.

John and I were left standing awkwardly beside each other taking in the sights and sounds of the busy intersection in front of us.

"Are you not headed back to Baker Street as well?" I asked after a few moments.

"I've moved out," John said softly, almost too softly for me to hear over the traffic beside us.

"Oh, you and Mrs. Hudson didn't say during dinner… I didn't… didn't know," I said as I looked away from John and towards the pub across the street. I watched as a group went inside and a man walked out. I soon realized I recognized the sandy colored hair and something in me slightly panicked.

"How much do you know about this man you are seeing?" John asked, pulling me away from watching "Paul" across the street. Sherlock had taken out his mobile and to any passerby he was simply checking his messages, while I assumed he was watching the interaction between John and I.

"Enough," I replied. "I've known him for years, longer than I've known you," I replied glancing back to where Sherlock was standing.

It wasn't a complete lie. I had known Sherlock longer than I knew John. Looking back at John, I continued.

"We've always been friends, but I went to visit him as you know after, well after…, and we just connected." I paused before continuing. Sherlock and I hadn't discussed what we would tell John. "We had been texting and such on and off for a while before that. In fact, he was the person I was going to meet for lunch the day before… well anyway I'm safe. He's safe."

"It's just you don't really have the best track record and I know that Sherlock, in his own way, would want me to look out for you. But I'm not like him and I can't get an instant read off of someone just by looking at a person, and even Sherlock wasn't perfect at that all the time," John said.

In the back of my mind I knew this was more about me getting fooled by Jim than anything else and I also knew John was looking out for my best interest and well-being. It was touching in a way that I hadn't had the opportunity to realize before.

"John, I won't get fooled like that again," I said. "This isn't… it won't be… Paul is different and I know," I paused and held up my hand to stop John from interrupting. "I know you are my friend and you're concerned and I thank you for it. It is interesting timing I'll admit, but… Paul and I are… I think he's the one."

I hope this conversation doesn't come back to haunt me.

"If anything seems off, anything at all… even if it's just because his socks are the wrong color, I will call you," I said, reaching my hand out to put in on John's arm. He nearly cracked a smile, but it faded away like a ghost and maybe I didn't see it after all.

"How are you really?" I asked after a pause.

"Fine, I'm fine Molly," he said without feeling.

We both knew I didn't believe him.

"If you need anything, please return the favor and let me know," I said, giving his arm a squeeze. I then quickly pulled him into a hug. He returned it with more feeling than I had seen him display all night, his hands warm on my back.

"Take care of yourself," I added as we pulled away.

"You too," he replied as we smiled softly at each other. "Are you taking a cab back to your flat?"

"No, I was going to walk. I only live a few blocks from here," I said knowing I wouldn't be alone on the walk.

"I'll walk with you," he said. It was another way John was trying to be the caring man I knew he was by nature. He wasn't one to ignore someone.

I was intrigued by Sherlock's appearance across the street. I hadn't even known he was back. The last I had heard from him was the note and that had been nearly a week ago.

"I'll be fine," I said with a soft smile. "I'm the opposite direction of the nearest tube."

"If you're certain?" he asked and I nodded my head. "Well, alright. Just text me when you get home, yeah?" He gave me a tight smile before turning to walk in the direction of Barbican station.

After a I moment or two I turned to walk in the direction of my own flat and it was only a minute later that Sherlock crossed the street to join me.

"He doesn't look good. The limp is starting to return," he said in greeting.

"He isn't. Of course he isn't!" I said with a sigh. "He misses you terribly."

"But he is alive," Sherlock replied while taking my hand. It felt natural, and while he was talking as Sherlock he looked like Paul and I was once again struck with the complexities of the situation. I had always had feelings for Sherlock. Feelings that had begun from who knows where and had no reason for staying around. After four years I had simply accepted that Sherlock would always have a special place in my heart and after the Christmas incident I resolved to move on. But now with his performance as Paul I was having a hard time telling the feelings for both apart. I enjoyed the attention I received when Sherlock was in character and when in private some of his Paul-ness seemed the slip through. It was confusing at best, since I was beginning to think of them as two separate people. Maybe it was the only way I could sanely cope with the utter joy I felt when Paul or Sherlock took my hand.

We were silent during the rest of the short walk back to my flat.

As we walked in, Toby came sulking over from my bed and while I thought he was coming over to me, he went straight for Sherlock.

"I'll never understand the two of you. Toby always seems so annoyed with you when you're here and then you leave he sulks for the rest of the day."

"Maybe you should bring him to the cottage next time. He'd like the extra space."

"I'm that bad of company?"

"No, he would just be another distraction is all."

"Mmmm," I said as I pulled my light coat off and slipped my shoes into their place. I slowly made my way around my small flat, trying to set things in their place before going to the kitchen area to check Toby's food and water.

As I turned around towards where Sherlock had been standing I noticed he had moved further into the flat and having removed his jumper and shoes, was in the process of going through a bag I hadn't noticed sitting at the foot of my bed. It looked like an overnight bag.

I'm not sure what to think.

"Are… you staying?" I asked with a slight blush as I realized my stammer had decided to reappear.

"I'm not going to Mycroft's," he replied not looking up from his search.

"Oh… okay," I said before going into the bathroom, the part of the flat that was closed off from the rest so that I could remember to breathe again.

After I changed and removed my contacts and my minimal make up from the day I walked out of the bathroom, I stopped abruptly when I saw that Sherlock had also changed and was lying nearly in the middle of my bed already asleep, Toby curled up near his feet.

I considered waking him, and once again wished for a slightly bigger flat that could fit a couch. But it had been a long day, and the thought of the soft mattress was too strong for me. I took a deep breath before I shook my head and moved to turn off the lights and then nudge Sherlock over to give me some room.

As I lay on the edge of my own bed, I was struck by the situation I found myself in. I was in a bed with Sherlock Holmes. Maybe it wasn't how I had imagined it, but it certainly was something I'd allow a small part of myself to get excited over.

And, sure, I was very close to falling out of my bed due to the lack of room, but this certainly wasn't somewhere I had imagined myself being a few months ago. But like so many things with Sherlock, sharing a bed with him was nothing like I could have expected. He moved in his sleep, pulled the covers away and all but pushed me out of bed twice throughout the night.

As the early sunlight came in through a crack in the blinds I took a few moments to watch him sleep. By this point he was sleeping on his back, almost completely to one side of the bed, leaving me the most room I had had all night. He certainly looked calmer when sleeping, and I couldn't help but decide that I preferred him like this: quiet and staying to his side of the bed.

His side of the bed. That was a new thought.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/n: Thanks for the responses for chapter 4! They were awesome and I love the feedback. As always, I'd like to thank my betas Amalia Kensington and coloradoandcolorado1. They are really helping to keep my on track!_

_Also I always forget to add the disclaimer – so I own nothing._

_Enjoy!_

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><p><strong>Someone I Used to Know<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 5<strong>_

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><p>Three months.<p>

It has been three months since Sherlock walked into my lab and asked for my help.

As I enjoyed one of the last fair weather days of London before the fall chill truly starts to set in, I'm not surprised to see Sherlock take a seat in the spot where my uneaten sandwich had been sitting. Said sandwich is now in his hands, being inspected.

"I do worry you know," I said, not fully turning to look at him.

"Because your emotional attachment to me has grown stronger over the past three months," he says before taking a bite from the sandwich.

"I need answers. You know I have hundreds of questions going through my mind, daily, and I can't just deduce the answers on my own," I said, trying to keep some on the annoyance out of my voice. "It's been a week since I last saw you, and I haven't heard a word from you. You keep doing this. You disappear for some period of time and then show up at my flat or a car pulls up as I'm leaving work with my bags already packed inside. I have no control over this, and for someone who prefers to be in control, I would think you would give my feelings a thought. I've called in sick three times in the past two months. I've never called in sick, not once, in my entire life!"

"That's a lie," he said, finishing the sandwich.

"Out of all of that you are just going to accuse me of lying about calling in sick?" I asked, finally turning to really look at him. He was wearing a pair of sunglasses, the ones everyone seemed to own these days. His hair was slightly shorter and his clothing was nice, but not nearly as formal as he used to wear on a daily basis.

"Molly, you know I tend to… forget about others when my focus is somewhere else," he replied, still staring ahead.

"Check in from time to time," I said, turning to also look ahead. "Let me know that you haven't actually died," I added in a softer tone.

I was surprised as Sherlock covered my hand with his. While I had grown slightly more used to our physical contact, it still usually left me confused.

"Fair enough, Molly Hooper. I'll check in, every few days," he said.

"Thank you," I replied, grateful that for once he'd listened to me.

"My brother would like to meet with you," he said then, changing the subject radically. "If he offers you money, take it."

"What?" I asked once again turning to look at him.

"It will be his way of ridding himself of some of the guilt he feels for playing such a large role in my fall, and in a way, my checking in with you is doing him a service. He obviously has surveillance on you, and by me appearing from time to time, it lets him know I'm safe," Sherlock explained.

"But you check in with him as well. How else would he be sending you on all of the assignments you've been going on?" I asked, turning towards him more, our hands still resting between us on the bench.

"Hardly, if there is something he wants me to do, an envelope will be waiting for me at your flat," he explained. "Beyond that, I don't really feel the need to keep Mycroft in the loop. I haven't only been leaving the country to help him."

"So Jim… Moriarty has others out there, are they still watching John?" I asked.

"Possibly. I'd need to be around John to know for sure, but as long as my death was convincing, he and the others should be safe now," he said, the fingers over top of mine now moving in a drumming motion.

We were interrupted as a woman who looked vaguely familiar approached us from the corner of my eye.

"Molly, Molly Hopper?" she asked as a smile broke onto her face. "It's been ages!"

"Mary!" I said pulling myself off of the bench. Mary Morstan had been my flatmate for two years during university until she had decided to move Scotland for a teaching job and to follow her then boyfriend.

"I've just moved back—how could I truly leave London forever? And imagine running into you so soon! I took a job at City University down the road. I knew you work at Bart's so I figured I'd stop by in between classes," she said with a smile. She, to this day, is one of the most genuine people I knew and while we had tried to keep in touch over the years, it had been months since we had last talked and years since we had seen each other.

As she reached us, we pulled each other in for a hug. As we separated, she glanced towards Sherlock.

"Oh, sorry, Mary, I'd like you to meet… Paul," I said glancing over to him. "Paul, this is my old roommate from university, Mary."

"Nice to meet you!" she said giving Sherlock a quick once over. Out of everyone, she was always the first to point out the flaws in any man—boy—I dated, usually for my own good. "Are you the boyfriend?"

"We've only been seeing each other for a few months," Sherlock said with a smile as he stood up beside me, shaking Mary's hand. "We actually met in medical school, when I thought I wanted to be a doctor."

"She's never mentioned you," Mary said with a smile. She wasn't being rude, but was also never one to avoid a truth.

"So what brings you back to the London, other than the new job?" I asked pulling the conversation away from how Paul and I had met.

"I decided I was tired of Scotland and I missed the rush of the city. And I just finalized a divorce and wanted to be surround by something all-consuming and familiar, where better than here?" she replied.

"So you and Jonathan…" I began to ask.

"We grew apart. We were never very similar to begin with and we just became more and more different," she says. "But let's not focus on that. I need to dash, but let's get together for dinner soon?"

"Of course!" I replied. "I'll call you. I'm sure I have a few open nights coming up next week…"

"But don't forget we're leaving for the weekend," Sherlock added from beside me.

"Are we?" I asked, pulling my attention from Mary and turning towards Sherlock.

"I thought it was the plan," he replied.

I tried to hide my annoyed looked and change it to a look of confusion. "I suppose I mixed up my weekends," I said turning back to Mary.

"I will see you soon!" she said before hugging me again and then walking in the direction of Barbican Station.

Once she was mostly out of sight, I turned back to Sherlock, letting the smile fall off of my face. "Can you also check with me before insisting on pulling me out of the city?" I asked, annoyance creeping into my voice.

"You have the weekend off, you won't have to call in sick," he said, an amusing smile pulling at his lips.

"I need to get back to work," I said reaching down to grab my bag.

"You're upset with me," He said.

"Obviously," I replied. "Will you be at the flat tonight?"

"Yes," he replied.

"It's your turn to pick up dinner. I'm sure you can deduce what I'd like. I'll be home 'round seven," I said before turning and walking away. I couldn't help but feel proud of myself for holding my ground and showing that, yes, Molly Hopper does have a backbone, most days.

* * *

><p>As I walked outside of the hospital, it became apparent that I wouldn't be returning to my flat before seven.<p>

"Molly Hooper," The woman standing beside a black town car said. I recognized her from Sherlock's funeral and from the few other times I had seen Mycroft. I assumed she was his assistant since she wasn't normally far from him. She also seemed to never look up from her phone. I quickly got into the car when she opened the door.

At least I had been expecting this, but I had hoped it could have waited until tomorrow at least.

"Where are we going?" I asked as she joined me in the back seat before the car began moving through London.

I didn't receive a response.

I must have dozed off, because I was being nudged away by the end of the woman's cell phone. Once my eyes were open, she quickly opened the door for me before leading the way into a posh-looking townhouse.

Once inside, I was ushered into a sitting room in the front of the home. Sitting with his back to me was Mycroft Holmes.

"Thank you for joining me, Dr. Hooper. Please, have a seat," he said without turning to face me. "Anthea, that will be all for now. Expect to escort Dr. Hooper back in half an hour."

"I don't know what you want me to tell you. He is, I presume, at my flat currently, unless he decided to leave for the cottage. I'd know if I had had a chance to go straight home from work," I said still standing near the doorway of the room.

"Dr. Hooper, we are not enemies in this, so you needn't take such a tone. You and I both are after the same thing, to ensure that my brother keeps himself alive," Mycroft said standing and turning in my direction. "Now, rather than taking a stance I would expect from him, please sit down, have a cup of tea and let's discuss what we plan to do."

"I don't know what there is to plan," I said as I reluctantly took a seat.

"My brother is determined to clear his name, and I intend to help him in any way I can because, while I hate to admit it, it is partially my fault for him being in the predicament," he said before preparing a cup for me. "He, for whatever reason, has decided that you are the only person in London he will willingly contact and because of that I will need your help in aiding my brother."

"Mycroft, I really can say that he won't take either of our help, offered or not, if he doesn't want it. Sherlock is an adult and a child all wrapped into one. If he is refusing your help, which I assume from what I've seen in the past isn't something new, I don't know how I can be of any help." I absently stirred the tea now in my hand.

"A transfer will be sent to your bank account at the beginning of each month; looking after my brother is not inexpensive," he said, changing the subject slightly.

"Are you paying me to look after your brother?" I asked looking up.

"Hardly, you would do so even if I didn't," he replied. "You love him. I don't know if you should trust my brother so blindly with your heart. He doesn't know how to handle it."

"I think… I think that is up to me to decide," I replied before setting my tea down. "I'm really sorry, but it's been a long day and if that is all, I'd like to go home," I said before standing.

"Thank you, Dr. Hooper," Mycroft said as I left the room, meeting Anthea in the hall. Without looking in my direction, she stood and lead the way to the door and then into the car.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/n: Sorry for the delay! Life, as always is getting busier by the day, but I am still sitting down to write whenever I get the chance. The good news is that the next chapter is half written and should make an appearance in the next two weeks. As of right now, my goal is to get this done right, rather than quickly._

_I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed, added this as a favorite and to their alert list! More importantly, I'd like to thank you for sticking with me!_

_Finally, I'd like to thank my wonderful Betas who are helping me to make sure I stay on track!_

_Disclaimer- I own nothing. Period.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>Someone I Used to Know<strong>

_**Chapter 6**_

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><p>The last warm days in London quickly faded away and turned into the crisp fall weather I always looked forward to. Every few weeks, I would meet Sherlock at the cottage where we spent our time in public acting like any other couple around town.<p>

In reality, I'd never been more confused about a relationship, or possible the lack of one, in my life. I was beginning to have a harder and harder time keeping Paul and Sherlock separate in my mind, especially when he'd continue holding my hand even though we were in the safety of my flat or how he would kiss my cheek in greeting most times I saw him, no matter if we were in the village, the cottage, my flat, or in the middle of the city.

As un-Sherlock like he was in public, he was almost exactly how I had imagined him as a boyfriend in private. While I always had a romanticized version of him in my head, deep down I could have almost predicted what type of boyfriend Sherlock would be. Not that he was actually my boyfriend. He'd never use a label like that, and I could clearly see the look he would give me if I asked. I'm sure it would be similar to the look he gave Anderson anytime he walked into the morgue.

But we are certainly more than friends. Friends don't sleep in the same bed and occasionally hold each other in sleep. Friends don't help the other fake his death.

It's not like this is hindering me from finding a great romance anyway. And it's possibly that lack of caring about finding the one that is also not driving me to force Sherlock into talking about feelings between us. He can obviously tell my feelings and so can his brother. He can also tell that it is bothering me, but for whatever reason, he doesn't comment on it, maybe because then he would be forced to acknowledge that there's something going on to talk about. Not that anyone can truly force Sherlock Holmes to do anything.

Times like these, I wish I had someone else to talk to about this. But how could I ever explain this to someone on the outside?

"Remember that bloke in the paper a few months ago who took a leap off St. Bart's after some reporter proved him to be a fraud? Well, he wasn't actually lying and I actually helped him stage his death. I've also been in love with him for ages, and he is now posing as my boyfriend as a part of his cover so that he can still keep tabs on the other people in his life. I think he may have feelings for me, but I just blindly go along with everything and refuse to ask in fear that it will ruin everything. What should I do?"

I'd have myself committed.

While I enjoy once again having one of my close friends living in London again, I know it's not something I can discuss with Mary. While she wouldn't commit me without a full explanation, I also know Sherlock's secret isn't something I can share. And as far as she knows, I'm head over arse for Paul and things are going wonderfully. Sure, I'm able to disguise some of my insecurities into real life situations Paul and I could be in, but I feel awful lying to her.

"Molly, who is the man giving you to odd look?" Mary asked as she and I sat together outside of the hospital. The weather was cool but clear, and we had decided to spend our lunch outside during the rare break in the rain of the week to enjoy the fresh air.

"Who?" I asked glancing across the street, quickly going through any worse case scenario I could think of before I realized it was John. "Oh! It's John Watson… he used to consult at the hospital," I said before waving at him.

He crossed the street wearing a tight smile that didn't fully reach his eyes.

"Molly, it's been awhile," he said before sticking his hands into his pockets and standing stiffly.

"I'm sorry I haven't called in a while… things have been busy," I said, feeling truly sorry. Oddly, my mind's issues with Sherlock had begun to distract me more and more, even when Sherlock wasn't around.

"Too busy with Paul, I suspect," Mary said from beside me.

"John, this is my friend Mary Morstan; we went to university together," I said trying to avoid the comment she had just made. "Mary, this is John Watson, we… ah… met through Sherlock."

It was odd to speak his name out loud in front of John and I watched him closely to see if would have a reaction. John shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but otherwise didn't show any outward signs that hearing the name affected him. Ironically, if Sherlock was here, he would have noticed a hundred different things about how one name affected John Watson. I'm sure even the color of his jumper played some role in it.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, John," Mary said with a genuine smile. "Molly's mentioned you from time to time, and I remember reading about Mr. Holmes in the newspaper, although I must admit I didn't pay much attention to the coverage. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," he replied stiffly while briefly shaking the hand Mary offered to him. As their hands separated, my phone alerted me to a new text message.

Need you to check a body that just came in. – SH

"Oh, I'm sorry, I need to get back," I said replacing my phone into my pocket quickly. "Mary, John, I'm sorry to cut this short. John, please tell Mrs. Hudson hello, if you see her before me. I'd love to catch up with you both soon. I have the weekend off, maybe we could meet for lunch or dinner soon?"

"We're still meeting to look at flats Saturday afternoon?" Mary asked as I pulled my bag onto my shoulder.

"Yes, of course. I'll send you the details," I said as I smiled warmly at my friend. While I was perfectly happy with my flat, Sherlock continued to complain about the lack of living space it had. In addition to the extra money Mycroft had been depositing into my account, I had enough saved to put a deposit on a new place and buy some new furniture. I had rarely touched the money so far, moving most of it into my savings for a later date.

Sherlock, of course, had refused to go looking with me and last week I had a package delivered from Mycroft's assistant with a few available property listings and a timetable for this Saturday to go and visit them. Obviously the brothers were in agreement that my flat was unsuitable and that moving was going to be in my future.

"You're moving?" John asked.

"I've decided to find something a little bigger. In all honesty, my flat isn't much bigger than student housing," I had to admit. "I'll see you both soon!" I added before turning and walking in the direction of the hospital entrance.

I was also secretly hoping John and Mary would continue to talk after I left. While I hadn't been planning to introduce them, seeing them standing together seemed to make sense to me. Mary only knew a few of her co-workers so far and many of the people we had known in university had moved away and had families now. And I knew it wouldn't hurt for John to make friends with someone new.

Hours later I returned to the flat to find Sherlock and Toby watching television together, sitting on my bed.

"Who was he?" I asked as I pulled off my jacket and toed my shoes off, referring to the body that had been waiting for me in the morgue.

"A hired assassin who was posing as a handyman at Mrs. Hudson's on the day I took my fall," Sherlock replied, not taking his eyes off the television.

"And Scotland Yard just happened to find him wandering around the city?" I asked as I fixed a plate of food for myself from the takeaway sitting on the table. If anything, Sherlock now remembered to pick up food from time to time before coming to the flat, or at least he had found the menus for the places that delivered.

"They sometimes surprise even me," he replied with a slight smile.

"But I guess not this time," I said sitting down on the bed with Toby in between us.

"I'm going to Spain next month, before the new year," he said after a long period of silence. My dinner had long been finished and we had sat in silence as we watched whatever crap show came on. Occasionally Sherlock would make a comment, but mostly stayed quiet, most likely lost in thought.

We had moved slightly since I had originally sat down and Toby had long ago lost interest in us and the television. Sherlock was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his legs, his hands steeped under his chin. I had awkwardly leaned against him, my head resting on his shoulder. Eventually he leaned back against the headboard, in a slightly slouched so that my neck was no longer at such an odd angle.

"It's a project for Mycroft. I'll need someone to go with me," he continued when I turned my head slightly to look at him.

"Are you going to trust whoever Mycroft picks to you with you?" I asked

"He isn't sending anyone. He knows better," he replied. "You dislike spending long periods with your family, and I won't be leaving until Boxing Day, so you'll still be able to spend some time with them without seeming completely rude."

"You want me to go with you? What help would I be?" I asked pulling my head from his shoulder and turning to look at him more fully.

"I'll need a second set of eyes, and you are no near as oblivious as anyone my brother would send with me," Sherlock replied.

"Was that supposed to be a compliment?" I asked before shaking my head. "It will depend on my days off."

"You've worked the past three Christmases; you've earned a Christmas holiday. The other, less competent pathologists will have to take your place. You can visit with family for a day or two and then go to Spain, with me," he said, already having the plan set in his mind.

"I suppose Mum will be happy I'll actually be home on Christmas," I sighed. My mother and I had never been extremely close. I was always closer to my father, and since his death, going home had become harder and harder on me. She always wanted to know when I would me moving out of the city, finding a nice man, having children. Both of tmy siblings, who are six and eight years older than me, respectively, both lived in the same town, were married and had two children each. While my relationship with them is less strained than the one with my mother, I hardly wished for their lives most days.

It would also limit the amount of time my mum would have to question me on my love life. I had mentioned Paul in passing but I had tried to not make a big deal of it. I could count on her demanding to see pictures and asking questions all about him, especially when I told her I would be going on a holiday with him.

Three days later Mary and I stood in an available house in Islington listening to a realtor explain the benefits of this particular location compared to the other places we had already looked at.

"Where did you say your husband works?" she asked for the second time.

"Still not married," I replied with a half of a smile. The realtor was middle aged and still couldn't understand how a girl like me could afford a place of this size when I was living in a studio flat now.

"Can you give us a few moments?" Mary asked interrupted the lady as she talked about the joys of the crown molding.

"I'll just be in the front hall," the realtor replied before leaving the first floor landing. Mary pulled me by the arm into the room beside us, a bathroom, and gave me a look I was all too familiar with.

"I don't mean to overstep myself, but do you really think you afford this place?" She asked. "Do you have a secret family you need to fit in here as well? Does Paul? Or is this just the type of place you think he expects you to get?"

"Admittedly, his… brother recommended most of these places," I replied.

"Is Paul, or his brother, planning to help with the rent then? Since when are you unable to pick out your own place of residence?" Mary continued.

"Well, Paul would be staying here when he is in the city," I said in response while not looking directly at her. "My place is crowded. It was fine when I was younger and had student loans to pay and it was just me, but isn't it about time I found a proper home? And if things continue with Paul, I'd like to have room. We can hardly keep moving around each other in my tiny one room flat. I can't even fit more than a full-size bed in there! I don't even have a couch," I finished with a sigh.

"Then why is he not here with us? Or instead of me?" Mary asked, weaving to look at me directly in the eyes. My eyes always give me away, at least with her and most likely, Sherlock.

"Paul isn't here because he finds these types of things tedious. It's why his brother's secretary is the one that pulled possible listings." I looked up at the ceiling. "And yes, I agree, this place is a bit much."

"Then can we ditch this silly woman and actually start looking for a place you'd want?" Mary asked, already inching towards the doorway.

"It's just…" I didn't know what was holding me back. I knew Sherlock hated my current flat and he was hoping for something similar to Baker Street. But this would need to be somewhere I was comfortable in even after… after he came back to the side of the living.

What would happen to our arrangement after he proved his innocence to the public? Would life just return to how it was before? Me, the quite lonely pathologist pinning away for someone who barely noticed me except to request coffee? Could I even be her again? While I had always been shy to some degree, my shyness in front of Sherlock was incomparable to my personality any other time. Until this point, I had barely let myself think of life after Sherlock was back to being Sherlock, and Paul became just another disguise he'd used to pass through unnoticed.

"Mol, there's no point staying with this woman. Next she'll be showing us something in Chelsea at the rate she is going. Could you even imagine the commute? It'd be terrible," Mary said, pulling me from my hesitation. "Let's go and get a cup of coffee and find a renter's guide and actually look for a place you'd like. You said yourself that your lease isn't up for another month or two. You have time and you don't have to pick today."


	7. Chapter 7

A/n: I'm sorry for such a long delay! The good news is that I'm now a chapter or two ahead so updates should go back to being fairly regular (weekly is my goal!).

I'd like to say thank you to everyone who has reviewed, added the story to their alerts and/or favorites, and are sticking around to see what I post next!

Next, as always, I owe a big thanks to my betas, _Amalia Kensington and coloradoandcolorado, who are both currently working on their own Sherlock and Molly stories. Please be sure to check them out! _

_Finally, I still own nothing. I'll let you know if that changes but signs point to highly doubtful! _

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><p><strong>Someone I Used to Know<strong>

**_Chapter 7_**

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><p>"So John mentioned to me again that he has yet to meet Paul," Mary said casually as she moved a stack of books into a box.<p>

"You and John are talking often?" I asked from the kitchen area where I was packing plates. I had settled on a two-bedroom flat near Moorgate station. The building had security and an elevator. No longer would I need to worry about carrying the shopping down stairs and instead, I would be able to take the lift up five floors to my flat.

It was a week and a half before Christmas and rather than decorating my small flat, I was preparing to move in three days. Unfortunately, the morgue had seen a surge of cases, mostly open and shut, but it had caused me and the other two pathologists to pull even longer hours than normal.

"So are you and John… a… you and John?" I asked with a smile, hoping the slight change in subject would distract my friend for at least a few minutes. Before Mary moved back, I had never thought of introducing John to any of my friends. In fact, if they hadn't both run across me I wouldn't have introduced them. I was never the type to set friends up and meddle.

"Hardly, we've only been out a handful of times," she replied. "Usually just for coffee in the afternoon, hardly normal date time."

"You are evading," I said, hoping she would forget that I had brought up this subject to avoid the subject of introducing John to Paul.

"I believe you are as well," she replied, seeing right through me as usual. "I don't see the big deal in introducing Paul to John. It's not like they are completely dissimilar. And while I've only met Paul twice, I think he and John would get on well enough. It's hardly like you are dating John's old flatmate. Although from what you have both said, it seems his interests in women leaned more towards the dead and intriguing variety."

"I know… it's just, Paul has one or two traits in common with… with Sherlock and I suppose a similar bone structure. I just don't want John to think I went out and found a Sherlock clone to date," I replied as I moved on to the mugs and glasses in the next cabinet.

It's not that I didn't want John to meet "Paul," but in a way I was nervous that John would just know instantly that we had lied to him and I wasn't prepared to see the look of disappointment he would give me. I know one day I'll have to see that look. I almost hope to see that look one day since it will mean that the lying is done and Sherlock has cleared his name and once again saved his friends. But maybe a selfish part of me also knows that when I see that look, it's all over. No more Paul. No more waking up beside Sherlock, no matter how rare of an instance it is now. I also know Sherlock will cause the meeting when he is ready and that "meeting" John will be the ultimate test for his disguise. Not only does he need to convince John but also anyone that may be watching him. "Now back to you and John…?"

"Honestly Mol, we aren't 18 anymore! Must I put a label on it?" she asked as I noticed a slight blush work its way onto her face.

"A label on what?" Sherlock, disguised as Paul, asked as he let himself into the flat. While he had mentioned stopping in the city in the next few days to oversee some of his own things being moved into the new flat, I hadn't expected him to step foot into my old home ever again.

"Hello, Mary," he added as he walked over to me and kissed my cheek. I smiled at the simplicity of it before remembering my confusion over him being there at all.

"Hello Paul!" Mary called from her spot by the bookshelf. "You don't by chance have any plans tonight, do you? It's just I've started seeing another friend of Molly's, John Watson, and I thought it would be a lovely idea for all of use to go to dinner tonight."

"Really, Mary, I'm in the middle of moving. The only things I have unpacked are a set of clothes for work and sweatpants. There's a million things to pack and I haven't even made a dent in it yet!" I said hoping to again prolong the Paul and John meeting. I wanted to evade the experience of being in the same room as both of them. It would make the lie I had been feeding to John so much more real. How could I truly continue to lie to John to his face when his best friend was actually standing in the room with us?

"You'll need to eat! And we hardly need to go anywhere formal," Mary added. "Besides, I asked Paul." She obviously thought if she could get Paul to side with her, that I would be forced to agree.

"I think it's a good idea," Sherlock said speaking up. "We can go to the pub up the road that you like so much," he said turning to me. If I hadn't been looking at him I would have missed to quick grin he flashed in my direction. He obviously had a plan for this and quite possibly had been expecting Mary to insist on the four of us going out together and had once again neglected to let me in on it.

Typical.

* * *

><p>Four hours later, Sherlock and I stood together outside of the pub waiting for Mary and John to arrive. The two had planned on going out that night already, and John was happy to have the two of us join them afterwards. I had also asked Mary to pass on my concerns about John thinking Paul may be a Sherlock clone. While he could fool just about anyone, I was concerned about how well Sherlock could fool those who knew him best. Admittedly, I even had moments when I had trouble remembering the two were the same person, but I think it had more to do with my confusion on our realfake relationship and less to do with Sherlock's performance as Paul.

As we watched John and Mary exit the cab, Sherlock moved his arm around my waist, lightly resting his hand on my coat-covered hip. His face broke into a smile as they walked over to us.

"So, you must be John Watson!" Paul, and it was completely the persona of Paul showing, said. "Molly has mentioned you several times and of course so has Mary!" He finished with a smile as he offered his free hand to him. "Paul Cross, glad we could finally meet."

I had noticed over the past few weeks that Sherlock had been working on perfecting Paul's accent. He had obviously been preparing for this meeting without me fully realizing it. Gone was his natural polished, deep London accent, and instead he now spoke in a slightly higher, northern accent with slight tones of Scottish in it.

Sherlock's typical rigid posture was also completely replaced with Paul's more comfortable posture. While he wasn't slouched over, he also wasn't standing at his full height, a subtle difference that helped to take away from Sherlock's normal towering presence.

His overall appearance was also lacking its slight Sherlock traces it usually had when he visited me. When I saw him the week before, he had let his hair grow out slightly from the shorter cut he had been wearing since The Fall and some of his darker roots had begun to show through. Luckily, he had dyed his hair and had it cut before coming to the flat today. A few of his trips recently had also taken him to warmer climates and his normally pale skin was now slightly darker by a shade or two.

To complete the Paul look, Sherlock had replaced his preferred tight suit with a pair of jeans and an expensive looking dark green jumper. His signature jacket was replaced with a shorter wool coat. I had to smile though when I noticed him pulling a scarf on as part of his preparation to leave the flat that night. It was a gesture I has seen him do so many times automatically in the morgue as he rushed out, John trailing behind. The final touch was a pair of dark-framed glasses that I had seen him wear from time to time. They helped to distract from the distinctive bone structure of Sherlock's face.

John returned Sherlock's warm greeting and as a group we moved inside the dimly lit restaurant. The place was a personal favorite of mine thanks to their wood-fire pizzas and interesting drink menu. We were seated in a booth near the back, secluded from most of the place. Luckily, it was a calm night and the noise level was at a minimum, loud enough for background noise but not so loud that we couldn't hear each other.

Once we had ordered, John's focus was once again on analyzing Paul from across the table.

"Molly never mentioned what it is you do," John said.

"I'm an independent contractor for the government; it's a far more posh name for what my position really is. It allows to me to travel from time to time though, which I enjoy," he replied. "Although I can't really say much more than that to be honest. Molly mentioned you use to be in the Army?"

From there they discussed various places they had both been. It was the most I had ever heard Sherlock as Paul talk. In fact, he was talking more than I had ever seen Sherlock talk in one sitting with the exception of his explaining some brilliant deduction. I couldn't decide if all of the talking was because Sherlock missed his former flatmate, or if it was part of the Paul disguise. Maybe it was a bit of both.

Overall the meeting seemed to go smoothly, and if John suspected that Paul wasn't who he said he was, he didn't show any signs of concern. Now we would have to wait to see if he said anything to Mary or myself in the coming days.


	8. Chapter 7 point 5

_a/n: So this is about four days later than I planned, but between work and getting ready to relocate at the end of the summer, things have been a little crazy. Anyway, Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited and alerted the last chapter! I'd also like to thank my betas, they are both super lovely and a huge help!_

_While this chapter advances the plot a little and is full of fluff, it wasn't part of my original plan but it basically wrote it's self so I won't complain! Enjoy!_

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><p><strong>Someone I Used to Know<strong>

_**Chapter 7.5**_

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><p>The flat I picked was still slightly bigger than I needed for myself. However, I refused to continue to put up with finding random experiments sitting around when Sherlock was and wasn't there, and so an extra room was needed to house them all. If I had learned anything from reading John's blog and talking to Mrs. Hudson, it was that Sherlock's experiments needed to be contained, lest I need to explain to someone why random body parts were stored in my fridge. Thus, the room at the end of the hall was a Sherlock-only space. The second bedroom in the flat, which shared an attached bathroom with Sherlock's space, was his bedroom. While we often slept in the same bed when he was at my flat, I mostly had assumed it was from lack of room and not really because it was Sherlock's preference. So, the third and final bedroom was my own, closest to the living room. I didn't want my room to be located past Sherlock's down the hallway. It would odd having to walk by his closed door on a daily basis. And in all honesty, I wanted those emotions left to the side as often as possible.<p>

The decision for the extra two rooms had been my own. With Sherlock's constant complaining about my previous flat and from seeing how he preferred to spread out at 221B, I knew I couldn't just rent a one bedroom. In addition, Mycroft, through his suggested places, had implied that a larger place was needed. I just didn't think I, we, needed a full house no matter how posh its location or if I could afford it (thanks mostly to the money Mycroft put into my account monthly). Through his lack of comment, I was left to assume Sherlock approved of my final decision.

I arrived at the new flat, after a day of paperwork and Lestrade calling to ask questions about two bodies that had arrived in the morgue the night before. Mycroft had arranged for movers to actually move everything from my tiny flat into this new, bigger space that was now mine, and occasionally, Sherlock's.

One of the elements that had drawn me to the flat originally was the built-in bookcase that lined two of the walls in the living room. Upon entering the flat, a small entryway with just enough room for a small table and shoe rack under it greeted you before you turned to walk into the living area. The opposite wall had two windows allowing sunlight in during the afternoon. The walls on either side had the bookcases with the outer wall having a fireplace. The building dated back to the mid-1800s and the Victorian influences on the property were well preserved while overall everything had been updated. Books had already been placed on the shelves, by category and by author. Looking at them now filling the shelves, I hadn't realized I owned so many books.

"You don't," Sherlock said walking up the hallway from where the bedrooms were. He had stayed at my flat the night of our date with John and Mary before disappearing before I woke up the next morning. I hadn't seen him since and quickly noticed a small cut above his left eyebrow.

"Did you have that looked at yet?" I asked, not being able to keep the doctor inside of me quiet. His response was a shrug before he sat down on the newly acquired sofa.

My favorite part of the move so far had been buying new living room furniture. I hadn't bothered to buy anything new for the old flat due to its size and my lack of company. I shook my head before walking towards my bathroom, dropping my bag and coat onto the dining room table (also new) on my way. My bathroom could be accessed from the hall or my room. I quickly located the box sitting against the wall that I needed and carried my first-aid kit back with me into the living room.

"The movers will be back tomorrow to finish unpacking everything," Sherlock said as I took a seat beside him and turned his face towards me. While he wrinkled his features in agitation, he didn't stop me as I inspected the cut.

"It'll take me ages to find everything," I sighed as I released his face and pulled out the few things I needed from the kit. "I guess I can't really complain though. The books alone would have taken me ages. They aren't all of the ones you had at 221, are they?"

"About half. The rest are in my 'lair' as you seem to be calling it," Sherlock replied as I cleaned the cut and applied a small bandage before inspecting the rest of his face.

"Anything else I need to look at?" I asked, satisfied that there were no other cuts on his face.

"It would have been fine on its own, doctor," he replied before slowly leaning back on the couch. His movements were slow and stiff. Without a word and more bravery than I could have imagined having mere months ago, I reached for his side and ran my hand up and down his rib cage, pressing lightly as I went. When I saw a slight wince, I knew I had found the cause of his cautious movements. Without a word, I quickly pulled up his T-shirt so I could see his ribcage. He had a large bruise on his right side.

"Sherlock!" I exclaimed as I leaned over him for a closer look. "I really hope you weren't planning on ignoring this!"

"They're only bruised; in a few days they will be healed," he said.

"Was this from one of your brother's assignments? I thought those were usually more hands off than this!"

I couldn't believe my reaction, not that I expected myself to not be concerned if Sherlock was ever hurt, but I was acting as though I was… an overly concerned girlfriend. Did I even have the right to scold him? I decided to save those thoughts for later.

"I can assure you that the man who caused this ended up far worse. I believe he would have been brought into your morgue around three last night, long after I had left," he said as I continued to examine the rest of him.

"The body Lestrade was so interested in today?" I asked, stopping my examination.

"I didn't kill him," he replied.

"You just said he ended up worse! And he is currently in my morgue!" I said, moving to stand. Sherlock stood up quickly, or as quickly as he could with three bruised ribs while lying on his side on the couch, wrapped an arm around me and pulled me back into a sitting position beside him.

When I continued to refuse to meet his gaze he pulled me closer to him, leaving me in an awkward position of leaning over him so that we could be face to face.

"He was formally part of Moriarty's network. I've been following him for a few days and had to reveal myself to him, in order to trap him. However, I wasn't the person who put a bullet into his heart," he said, mere centimeters from me.

"You dropped a man from a window because he threatened Mrs. Hudson," I said, not pulling away. I knew he lived a dangerous life, but no woman wanted to hear that the man she… cared deeply for had just killed another.

"When I left him, he was fairly battered but alive. His remaining g alive would have been better for this case. As a member of Moriarty's network, he could have helped proved his real existence. Moran made sure the police wouldn't find him alive. While Moriarty was the type to think things through and was truly the brains of every part of the network, Moran was always the muscle, the shoot-first type. Obviously the man would have been able to reveal far too much in custody."

Somehow we were now even closer to each other.

"But if I had to, I would have killed him myself," Sherlock added as he closed the distance between us. The kiss was short and over before I could fully realize it had happened. "But this time I didn't and I'm fine."

A few hours later, I was lying awake wondering what bothered me more, knowing that Sherlock could be a killer if he needed to be or that he truly was in danger every step of the way towards proving his innocence.

Or at least I was trying to focus on the important things while my head occasionally wondered to the oh-so-brief kiss on my new couch. While it wasn't the first kiss between us and far from my first kiss ever, this one stood out. It was different in so many ways. We didn't have an audience; he hadn't been "Paul." But had he done it to distract me from what he had just said? Or was it truly a perfect moment to kiss me? Did he even mean anything by it or was it just something to do?

My thoughts were interrupted by my door softly opening and a tall figure slowly moving into the room.

"Are you alright?" I asked as I sat up.

"I haven't slept in a few days," Sherlock replied, not really answering me. "And you are on my side."

His side?

I was silent as he lightly nudged me out of his way a bit, as much as he could without straining his bruises too much, before getting into the bed beside me.

"You have two rooms to yourself now," I said not completely sure why I was protesting having Sherlock Holmes in my bed.

"I'm aware," he replied before lying on his good side and pulling me back into a lying position beside him. "Good night."


	9. Chapter 8

_a/n: So…. It's been awhile._

_To be completely honest, I'm not even certain where the first part of this year has gone._

_That being said, in addition to this chapter being done I also have chapter 9 ready to go. Expect to see it later this week. It's also my goal to get back to some sort of posting schedule!_

_Thank you to everyone who is keeping up with me and following along with this story. I truly appreciate all of the favorites, follows and reviews! I love love love seeing them in my inbox!_

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><p><strong>Someone I Used to Know<strong>

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 8<strong>_

After spending Christmas with my family, I awoke the next morning to a car waiting to take me to the airport to meet Sherlock in Spain.

The day prior had been filled with catching up with my family and avoiding questions about my relationship. My mother was very interested in knowing where this was headed and, for the most part, I avoided her line of questioning. While continuing to keep the lie about Sherlock, I also didn't want to seem too blissful in the relationship to the point that my family became fully invested in it. There would come a day I'd have to either have to tell them the truth or at least tell them that Paul and I had gone our separate ways.

No matter my uncertainty about where Sherlock stood on this fake relationship I'm certain that it, whatever_ it _is, will end once he returns to Baker Street. How could it not? He is a man that has said more than once that he is married to his work. It would be hard for me to imagine him ever truly divorcing himself from being a consulting detective in order to truly pursue a lasting relationship. And while I'd be happy to see what a life that included both his work and me in it looked like, it was hard to convince myself that moments like we had had a week earlier weren't just moments and actually meant something more.

The arrival of the car signaled the end of my visit with my family and inspired a whole new line of questioning. When asked what Sherlock, well Paul really, did for a living I had simply replied that he worked for the government. I was already convinced that in some ways Mycroft was the government, and by saying Paul worked for him wasn't a far stretch of the truth. And while I'm certain my family originally thought that meant paper pusher, their version of what he may do was shattered with the arrival of the Town Car ready to take me to the airport.

"I suppose he also has some family wealth on the side," I said in the way of an explanation as I departed.

As I prepared to get out the car, my phone alerted me to a new text message.

_There is a ring in your carry on. Wear it. Will explain when you arrive. – SH_

Reaching into my purse, I pushed around a few things until I located a black velvet box sitting at the bottom. I wasn't completely surprised that it had gone undetected in my bag over the past few days. Typically the things I needed were towards the top and I had the bad habit of just tossing items inside and never really taking them out. What really made me curious was if my sister had seen the box while I was at my brother's. She had asked about my shade of lip gloss and I told her to just check for it in my bag. Maybe she wasn't as excited to find it as I thought.

Realizing the door had been open for me for a few minutes now; I quickly opened the box and put the ring onto the appropriate finger before quickly exiting the car.

As I rushed into the airport and went through the process of checking my bag and going through security, I barely took the moment to look at the ring now resting on my finger. While I was curious about the it, I was even more distracted by the fact that Sherlock hadn't mentioned this part of plan to me when we had talked prior to me leaving to join my family for Christmas.

The ring itself was simple, a gold band with a diamond in the center. On either side of the diamond two other diamonds rested. It was obviously an expensive ring but not overpowering on my hand. Oddly, I couldn't help thinking it looked like it belonged there, but maybe that was more to do with my recent visit to my family and their ever present question of when I would settle down.

XXXXX

"Why the ring?" I asked as the door closed behind me once we were standing in our hotel suite.

"Sometimes, I miss the meek Molly Hooper," Sherlock responded from his spot on the sofa, a laptop sitting in front of him on the table.

With a sigh, I crossed the room, pulling the ring off as I went and sat in on the keyboard of the laptop before sitting beside him.

"Madame Milverton needs to think you have more than a relationship to lose. You are also expecting, unsure if it is mine or some other man who can offer you far less. I'm a traditional, trusting man. I'd want to do the right thing and quickly. Also because of my family background, I'd make you sign a very binding prenuptial agreement if my family has anything to say, which is why you are hoping for a quick marriage while we are abroad. Thus you are insured at least some form of settlement if your worse fears come true. But if your suspicions are not confirmed, you will be the wife of a wealthy man with an extremely large disposable income."

The Milverton name went back a few decades in importance in communications world. The most recent in the line was Mireille Milverton, a French woman who heads up a few corporate communications firms in addition to owning a few well-read papers throughout Europe. According to Sherlock, she had been a thorn in Mycroft's side in recent months.

"Able to pay what she is asking to never reveal my worries to my new trusting husband," I finished. "Why didn't you tell me all of this before?"

"I didn't want the over thinking like you have been doing since you found the ring in your bag to occur while you were with your family. I assumed you'd rather not be distracted," he replied with a shrug before turning his attention back to the laptop.

With another sigh, I leaned back against the sofa and looked at my surroundings. The hotel was one of the nicest in Barcelona and from looking around our suite, I could tell why. The walls were mostly white, which complimented the darker furniture. While many hotels go for the modern minimalist look, our suite instead reflected more of a nineteenth-century look.

After a period of silence between us, I noticed his hand hesitate over the keyboard before picking up the ring I had placed there.

"You will want to wear this when you are not in the room," he said turning to me. He pulled my left hand from my lap, but rather than placing the ring on my finger he simply placed it in the palm of my hand.

XXXXXXX

I didn't meet Madame Milverton and her husband until the following night at a gallery opening Sherlock knew the two would be at.

When I had unpacked my suitcase the day before I discovered half of the things I had originally packed had been taken out and replaced by an array of clothing I had never seen before, but was all my size.

"Mycroft's assistant," Sherlock called from the sitting area.

Thus, rather than wearing my preferred plain black dress, I was wearing a nude colored dress with a black lace overlay and heels I would have never picked out for myself.

As we moved through the gallery among other well-dressed people drinking wonderful French wine, I felt like a fraud sipping on tonic water with lime in desperate need of something stronger. But there's a fake pregnancy to keep up, so I tightened my jaw and said nothing.

"I had a bottle sent to our room," Sherlock said after catching me eyeing yet another person's glass of wine as we moved through the crowd. We had yet to run across Milverton, and I had already developed a habit of tapping the ring, still a very foreign object on my hand, against my glass.

I also glanced around the room, not expecting to really notice or recognize anyone from before tonight until my eyes landed on a slim brunette who bore a striking resemblance to a woman I had seen in my morgue almost exactly a year ago. But it couldn't be her, the woman Sherlock could identify without being able to truly see her face, could it?

Curiosity had gotten the better of me after that night and I had googled her name to see what the woman had looked like in life. A few months later, Sherlock had had a picture of her in the lab when running a scan on a cell phone.

John had mentioned later in passing that Irene Adler no longer existed. But now as I stood across the room from the woman, I couldn't help but be even more curious about a woman who could capture Sherlock's attention.

I was so distracted by these thoughts that I didn't even notice the approach of Madame Milverton.

The conversation went as Sherlock had planned.

Sherlock had previously met Madame Milverton and while she had shown little interest in him, she was intrigued when she had learned he had a significant other. From there she had insisted on a meeting the next time the three of us happened to be in the same city, which was why we were at the gallery opening in the first place. As the conversation drew to a close, she insisted on all of us getting lunch the next day.

It was at this lunch that I would truly be put to the test in this set up. I needed her to be convinced I was hiding something and then cause her to prompt me to share my secret with her.

I needed to sell the lie Sherlock had come up with as though it was the truth and be truly surprised once she gained the information from me.

XXXXX

The next morning I awoke to the unfamiliar scent of a perfume. As I began to wake up more, I realized it was on the shirt Sherlock was still wearing from the night before. When I had gone to sleep, he had still been across the room working in his laptop. I also didn't remember smelling the perfume then and so I had to assume he had left after I had fallen asleep and returned and joined me before I woke up.

"The Woman," he slightly mumbled as I rubbed my eyes, trying to wake up. Due to the large variety of hours I worked, waking up was always my least favorite part of the day.

"Hmm…?" I mumbled in response, moving slightly so that I wouldn't be smothered completely by the perfume but not wanting to fully pull away from Sherlock. I couldn't help taking advantage of mornings like this. He didn't sleep much, but normally, on nights he stayed at my apartment or when I went to the cottage, he would at least lay down with me for a few hours when I went to sleep or before I woke up. While I enjoyed falling asleep nestled beside him, I couldn't help the excited shock that ran through me when I woke up curled beside him.

"I went to see Irene Adler after you went to sleep," he explained further. "You saw her last night across the room, and she obviously saw us. For the time being, she plans to keep the secret that I am alive, although it is only because the same people who want her dead are the ones I need to believe I am dead. To reveal me, she would have to reveal herself first. She owes me her life, her words, but she will not hesitate to sell my secret to save herself."

"She isn't here for the same reason as us, is she?" I asked, turning slightly so I could face him without moving out of his grasp.

"Milverton is in the same business she used to make her living from... well, one of the businesses she made her living from," he replied. "She tends to keep a close eye on her former competition."

We lay there in silence for a few minutes until I was nearly back asleep.

"You're meeting Madame Milverton in two hours, you'll need to get ready," he said pulling me back awake. To further support his comment, Sherlock moved from underneath me and stood up from the bed, stretching. I stayed there for a few moments watching him move around the hotel room and wondering about when mornings like this became so routine for me until my eyes fell upon the bedside clock and I realized I really did need to start getting ready.


	10. Chapter 9

_a/n: Oh Geez! I was so so so excited to get the last chapter up, I forgot to thank my Betas! Ladies you are both amazing and have been a huge huge help throughout this process. Not sure this would be where it is now without you!_

_I'd also like to thank all of the lovely people who have been following this story and reviewing. I truly appreciate it!_

_I'm excited for this chapter. You'll know why soon!_

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><p><strong>Someone I used to know<strong>

_**Chapter 9**_

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><p>Two hours later I was once again dressed in clothes I hadn't packed. I stuffed my gloved hands into the pockets of my brown wool coat as I hurried in unfamiliar boots towards the café Milverton and I had agreed to meet. I cursed under my breath at my decision to enjoy the chilly winter weather rather than taking a cab. While it was cold, the sun was out, and after living in London for so many years, I had learned to appreciate the sun when it decided to appear.<p>

I found her sitting at a table for two near the back of the café. It was an area that would allow for some privacy in the busy place. However, as I approach, the seat I assumed was for me was taken by the same woman I had seen the night before, Irene Adler, as Sherlock had confirmed.

Rather than approaching, I decided to stay where I was, pretending to look for the person I was meeting while also watching the interaction. While a casual observer happening to glance in the direction of Madame Milverton and Irene Adler would think they were simply two women meeting for a coffee, on closer inspection, the strain the conversation was causing Milverton was obvious. Previously she had been sitting casually, but from the moment Irene had sat down her posture had become rigid, formal. Irene however was draped in the seat with a look as though she didn't have a care in the world.

With a blink of an eye, Irene was standing up and making her way across the café. As she passed, she tilted her head in my direction in recognition, but didn't say a word of greeting as she made her exit. When I turned, I noticed Madame Milverton had also stood up and was nearly in front of me.

"My apologies, but we will need to reschedule," she said buttoning her coat. "Unfortunately, something has come up."

Without waiting for my response, she made her way out of the café and quickly got into a nearby cab. With a sigh, I also exited the café, debating if I should go directly back to the hotel.

_Lunch has been postponed. Adler made an appearance. – MH_

_Take a cab to the attached address. You have an appointment scheduled for an hour from now. Stay until you pick something. Purchase it and then return to the hotel. – SH_

His text arrived mere seconds after I sent my own. Obviously he had expected this turn of events and I couldn't bring myself to be surprised. He had seen Adler just a few hours ago and even if she hadn't told him about crashing my lunch, he would have figured it out.

* * *

><p>I don't know where I expected the cab to pull up in front of. But currently I was looking at an expensive looking bridal boutique. Obviously, this was to go along with the front we were trying to portray, a newly engaged couple who expected to marry soon, very soon if they believed the story that Sherlock made sure was being whispered around.<p>

To say I was intimidated would have been an understatement. Like all women, I had imagined my wedding day and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't daydreamed of Sherlock being the man waiting at the end of the aisle. However, faced with the reality of everything I was beginning to wonder if all of these lies were too much for me to handle.

This time last year, I was single with no hopes of finding the right person or pushing my feelings for Sherlock aside. I was, and still am, a workaholic with little opportunity of meeting anyone new outside of the hospital and most men I did meet were already dead and laying on the table waiting for an autopsy. Now I was supposedly engaged to Sherlock, no matter the disguise I still knew it was him, for the purpose of a case and trying to outsmart a mastermind at blackmail. And all of this led me to be standing in front of this bridal boutique.

This wasn't the time to fall apart. With a deep breath I paid the driver and exited the cab and walked as confidently as possible into the boutique.

"Señorita Hooper?" asked the lady behind the desk on my left as I walked through the door. I was slightly blinded at the sight of so much white in one place, and it look me a moment to realize the woman had said my name.

With a smile I nodded and walked closer to her.

"Your fiancé just phoned, he informed me that you need a dress this afternoon and to not worry about price. We've pulled a few samples for you already if you would like to follow me? Unless you would like to look around first?" The woman spoke completely in unbroken English, but her Spanish accent could still be heard.

"We can start with what you pulled," I said, still trying to keep my composure. It would be my goal to make sure I didn't show just how intimidating I found the whole concept of this trip.

Half an hour later I stood in front of a set of mirrors staring at my appearance. I had settled on a lace covered dress that was simple and to the point. The skirt was straight but not constricting and the top came to a 'v' in the front and back. A simple cream ribbon sat around my natural waist and was tied in the back in a pretty bow, its ends trailing down the back of the dress.

"We can have this sent to you within a few hours, will that do?" asked the same attendant.

"Yes that's…. that's fine," I replied pulling my gaze away from the mirrored image of myself. "I'll go change so that you can make the alterations," I added without moving.

"It's always a special moment when you find the right dress," The attendant said. She had talked from time to time throughout trying on the other few dresses she had pulled for me. I found it hard to keep responding to her and not be trapped in the thoughts circling in my mind. But somehow through my silence she had been able to put me in the dress I had never dreamed of, and yet was the perfect fit for me. "I'll give you a few more moments alone," she said before leaving me in the mirrored area.

I let my smile turn sad as I thought of this dress never being worn, especially not by me. No matter how much I wanted to imagine myself wearing this as I walked down an aisle, most likely not a church but rather a pretty room somewhere in London, walking towards Sherlock, I knew the likeliness of it ever happening was nil. No matter what it was that we had between us, I could never imagine Sherlock wanting to marry me. How could a marriage between us even work? Would he remain Paul Cross, officially, forever? And what if we married before he could clear his name? His real name couldn't be used on a marriage certificate; it was the name of a dead man. And how would I one day explain all of this to my family?

This relationship was mostly just a ruse to make the lie of Paul Cross that much more real. How would I handle the day when that lie was no longer there? And how could I explain the slips of intimacy we had in private? Was that all for show as well? Was that just Sherlock staying in character or was I supposed to read more into it? Was I supposed to just go with these slips and not let them affect me, not let myself become invested in whatever it was?

But how could I not when I was staring at myself in the mirror wearing an overly expensive wedding dress that was all a part of this lie?

How could I keep putting myself through this turmoil of the heart without asking questions, without knowing what it all meant to the man at the heart of it?

I couldn't keep avoiding ask the questions that had plagued me for months just because I feared the answers. I couldn't keep trying to seal off my heart when I knew in reality I was already so deep into this that once I received the answers I expected, I'd be shattered. But I couldn't keep not asking. For the sake of my sanity, I had to. I had to know if everything was fake or if any part of this ruse, no matter how small, was real.

* * *

><p>For the second time in three days, I decided to skip pleasantries and get straight to my questions. I knew more than anything I needed to ask before I lost the nerve.<p>

"What are we?" I asked after closing the hotel room door. I leaned against it and looked across the room at Sherlock, once again perched on the sofa with a laptop, this time mine, in front of him. "And please, I know you know exactly what I mean so please do not… say something to push me off or… or avoid the question and pretend you aren't listening."

Still without looking at me, he clicked on a few more things before slowly shutting the laptop and leaning back in his seat.

"Your shopping trip went well," he replied.

"Sherlock… please… please just answer the question." I moved from the door still not sure where to go, where to stand.

After a few more moments of silence I began pacing in front of the sofa, still wearing my coat but discarding my bag on one of the chairs.

"I just… bought a wedding dress; a very, very expensive wedding dress all for the sake of keeping up appearances for a case. And it's hardly the first time this trip or ever, that I've done something I never would have imagined in the past few months." My pacing continued as I snuck a quick look in his direction to see if my words were being absorbed. "In public, I'm dating Paul Cross, a man so similar to you and yet so different, but I still know it's you underneath, no matter how many people we fool. And then… in private I have moments where I don't know where… where Paul Cross ends and where Sherlock Holmes begins. Are the moments between us in private just you practicing playing the part of Paul or are they actually you, dropping the shield you keep so steadily in front of you to protect yourself from sentiment?"

My pacing stopped and I stood across from him with the coffee table between us.

"How can I keep going on without asking these questions? I don't take back offering to help you, I never will, but how was I supposed to know to what extent I was agreeing to? And how long am I to expect for this to continue? What happens when one day Paul Cross is no longer around? Do we go back to how things were before? Am I supposed to just tell everyone that we simply broke things off after however long this lasts? And what about me, Sherlock? What about what I want out of life? Because I want so much more than just being someone's cover story. I … I deserve to be more than just your cover story. And I can't… I can't keep doing this. I'm not like you. I can't just simply divorce my feelings from my life. I… I can't."

Tears were pricking my eyes and while I had gestured with my hands as I spoke they now fell limply to my sides as I looked at the man in front of me who was barely showing a reaction to anything I had said.

After a few moments that could have been seconds or hours, he spoke.

"Are you finished?" he asked standing from his spot on the sofa.

"That's… that's all you have to say?" I asked disbelief evident in my voice. The tears that had been on the brink of falling slowing started to drip down my face.

He shook his head as he crossed the short distance between us.

"You matter, I've said it before and I assumed you understood," he said before gently taking my cheek in one of his hands. I couldn't help but hold my breath as I waited for the other shoe to drop.

"It's all real," he said before closing the distance between our lips. The kiss was soft and sweet unlike any we'd shared before. I found myself gripping his arm to steady myself as my knees grew weak.

"I will try to be more… vocal about my… feelings in the future," he said as we pulled apart slowly. He pulled me closer with his other hand, letting the hand on my cheek also drift down to my waist. We stood there for some time with his hands wrapped around my waist and my head leaned against his chest, his own head resting on top of my own.

"Don't leave me in the dark," I said after some time. "I'm not truly as… meek as you think. I won't be blindly led any longer. I want—no, I need to know where this is going and I need you to communicate that to me."

"I'll keep that in mind in the future and do my best," he replied moving slightly to kiss the top of my head. "I apologize for the confusion I've caused. I expected you to say something sooner."

"I was terrified," I confessed.

"I see that now," he replied. He let go of me and moved to pick up his coat. "I'm going to Milverton's office tonight to take the evidence she holds on Mycroft's friend. We'll leave tomorrow morning."

* * *

><p>The case of Madame Milverton ended with all of her evidence against a large variety of people being completely erased by Sherlock. However I didn't learn the actual fate of the woman herself until a few days later when I was reading the newspaper in my apartment. She was found murdered the day we left Spain. Her body was found in her rented apartment with no signs of a break in.<p>

"I only went to her office," Sherlock said from behind me. "It was someone sent by Irene." I turned to watch him as he moved across the flat towards the door. "I'll be back in a few hours." He paused behind me sitting on the sofa before quickly leaning down and kissing the top of my head before straightening quickly and exiting the apartment.

I shook my head and smiled before skimming through the rest of the paper. While I knew where I stood with Sherlock now, for the most part at least, things hadn't changed much with the exception of a slight increase in the affection he showed from time to time. We had also barely spoken of my outburst in the hotel room in Spain. Obviously my words had been heard and Sherlock felt that no more needed to be said. I however couldn't help still wondering about my many more unanswered questions. Most importantly what would happen when one day he cleared his name and returned to the life of Sherlock Holmes?

When we reached to airport together in Spain, the engagement ring which had taken residence on my finger for the trip was removed and given back to Sherlock, who deposited it in a box before placing it in a pocket of his jacket. Over the next few days I caught myself looking at the particular finger, occasionally touching the spot absentmindedly as I worked, sometimes being almost shocked not to feel its weight.

Placing the paper beside me, I stood up to stretch before moving towards my—our—room to change for work. As I shuffled through my closet looking for a particular cardigan, I noticed a cream colored bag hanging in the back that I had never seen before. I moved the other hangers away from it and hesitated when I saw the name on the garment bag.

The dress, my dress I had picked out in Spain.

I was pulled out of my spell when I heard my phone go off across the room.

_It may serve a purpose one day. – SH_

And it was in that moment, more than those minutes in Spain as he held me that I knew exactly where Sherlock's heart laid in all of this.

And the smile on my face couldn't be removed for some time.


	11. Chapter 10

_**A/n:** First- This hasn't been beta'd, so apologies for any errors. Second, I must admit that this has been written for ages but I just haven't had time to look over it again. Life has been busy and so this story was put on in definite hold. However, there are still two or three chapters to go after this one, but each will be written as a stand-alone so that whatever span of time passes in between, the wait wont be as mysterious. A HUGE thank you to everyone who has followed this since the beginning and to those who have discovered it since. I hope it was worth the wait!_

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><p><strong><em>Someone I Used to Know<em>**

**Chapter 10**

* * *

><p><em>Eight months later<em>

As I woke up I felt the familiar feeling of one of Sherlock's expensive dress shirts under my cheek.

"Why are you fully dressed in bed?" I mumbled, moving one hand to run my eyes as I tried to wake up more while fighting the urge not to move from my comfortable position. However this was the first time I had woken up beside Sherlock in nearly three weeks.

As our relationship progressed in the past months, he had begun spending more and more time in London, however he had left suddenly three weeks ago without a word since with the exception of two short texts, the most recent had come two days ago and simply read 'safe'.

"I'm not sleeping. I got in an hour ago," he replied as I moved slightly to take his appearance in. he was lying beside me slightly propped up with his cell phone in one hand and his other wrapped around my waist. "I will need to see the body of Martin Johnson when you get to work."

"It's my day off," I said resting my head back on his chest. "My first in two weeks."

It had become a habit in of mine in the past few months to only take on extra shifts when Sherlock was away, rather than before when I use to take every shift available simply because I preferred working over being alone in my flat most days.

"I sent your boss a text a half hour ago and arrange for you to take a short morning shift today," He replied still not look away from his phone's screen.

"You didn't think to consult me?" I ask now pulling away from him and sitting up. "You've been gone for nearly three weeks with just two brief texts saying you are safe and no other word on when you will be back. Now you are and rather than even saying good morning, you have arranged for me to go into work – on my day off!"

"Good morning," He said leaning slightly to kiss my check, originally aiming for my mouth but my turned head prevented him. "Martin Johnson isn't the man's real name. His real name is Alden Moran, the brother Sebastian Moran, Moriarty's former right hand and now the soon to be former head of one of the world's largest criminal networks. I need to see the body to confirm the identity. This will bring Sebastian out into the public. He is the last key to the puzzle of Moriarty."

"So this is what you've been working towards?" I asked moving into a sitting position so that I could get a better view of Sherlock while we had the discussion. Eternally I was fighting, and losing, the battle between being intruded by the latest development and wanting to be annoyed with him.

"I'm nearly there. By bringing Moran to the public attention, which will happen through solving this murder, it will then be made easy to link him to a man called Richard Brook, the actual real name of James Moriarty," Sherlock responded. "James Moriarty was always a made up person, it was the named Richard used to cover up his tracks once he stumbled upon the criminal underworld. It also made it far easier for him to then cover up his tracks when he framed me."

* * *

><p>The autopsy was straight forward, or as straight forward as any autopsy Sherlock would be interested in could be. The short morning shift turned into the afternoon and by seven that evening I was finally wrapping up all of the tests I had set that could be completed that day. After carefully copying the file, I stuffed it into my bag and grabbed my umbrella and left in the direction of my flat.<p>

As I made my way to the doors, I was stopped by a beep from my phone. Expecting a text from the ever impatient Sherlock, I quickly pulled the phone out of my pocket before noticing a text from Mary.

_Call immediately! -MM_

Pausing, I decided the best route was to hurry home and hand off the information to Sherlock before calling Mary.

* * *

><p>"MOLLY!" Mary shouted as she picked up the call. "I'm engaged!" she exclaimed without missing a beat. "Why did it take you so long to call!"<p>

"Mary, that's fantastic!" I responded as I turned on the couch to see if Sherlock was paying attention. Unfortunately, he had disappeared from the spot he had been mere seconds ago when I had placed the call, most likely going into his room to go over the papers I had just brought home.

"Mol, everything was just perfect. We had a lovely dinner, went for a walk in St. James Park and right on the bridge, you know how much I love that spot, he proposed! Naturally after a few moments of shock I said yes, and it was like a movie, everyone around us started clapping and it was just fantastic!" she was barely stopping to breath.

"And we've decided to not wait long, so this is your official invitation for you and your plus one to attend the wedding of Mary Morstan and John Watson, next Saturday afternoon at the Marylebone Registry Office! We'll set up a reception somewhere close afterwards!" Her excitement was infectious and I couldn't keep the smile off my face.

"I suppose you are in luck, it's my day off tomorrow so it will be perfect to go and look for a dress!" I replied, not being able to help my mind drifting to my own white dress hanging at the back of my closet, unworn.

"Wonderful!" She replied. "I should go, but we have so much to discuss tomorrow!"

"Congrats!" I said happily as we ended the call.

I paused briefly before deciding to tell Sherlock immediately. After all, how often did someone's best friend become engaged? And I knew, no matter how interesting he found the autopsy report, he would be thrilled for John.

The room designated as Sherlock's study and miniature lab isn't a room I frequent in the flat. It was purely his domain and I tried to only venture in when asked or when the smell of something inside began to seep into the hallway.

The door was ajar and so I nudged it open to find him sitting at the desk beside the door reading through the file I had just given him.

"He finally proposed," He said before I could say anything.

"They've set the date for next weekend," I replied.

"He's had the ring for the past month. I noticed him checking to make sure it was still in his pocket the last time we had dinner with them," Sherlock said.

"Will everything be done before then?" I asked, not needing to specify that I meant his uncovering of the truth.

"Nearly, but my name will hardly be cleared enough for me to attend officially as Sherlock Holmes. No matter my public reputation, there will still be the fleeing from arrest charges against me to get rid of before I can fully return to my normal life," He replied. "However, by next month's end I expect to have everything wrapped up and have my name and reputation completely cleared."

"Unofficially, can we tell them?" I asked. It had been a conversation we had had before. I knew from the very little information he shared, that he had had to reveal his true identity more than once and in the underground criminal world it was known that Sherlock Holmes was still alive. The most obvious sign of this was the phone booth near Bart's, besides the building he had jumped off of. However for what I assumed was both of our protection and others around us, he was typically careful to not reveal the persona he was living as in London. Only in rare cases, such as our trip to Spain did he travel under the name of Paul Cross. Mycroft, or at least his employees, had created a variety of aliases for Sherlock to take during the past year.

"He won't be very happy with me," Sherlock said, finally looking up from the paperwork in his hands. "Can we discuss this after your trip with Mary tomorrow? I should have this portion of everything completed and from there it will be a waiting game for the reporter I've sent all of the appropriate information to truly accept it as truth and verify it."

It was odd, sometimes if I didn't pay attention to what we were actually talking about, I could almost be convinced we were having conversations like normal adults who weren't trying to hide huge secrets from the world around them or trying to topple world wide crime sydnicates.

"Coffee?" He asked before turning back to the papers in his hands.

And sometimes things were exactly as they had been. At least the request was now asked as a question.

* * *

><p>That night, as I tried to fall asleep on my own, Sherlock was still engrossed in the paperwork I had brought home as well as the other information he had recently gathered, I couldn't stop my mind from wondering what life would be like once Sherlock went back to being Sherlock. Could I make myself believe that not much would change? Especially between the two of us? No matter how much our relationship had progressed in the past few months, from fake relationship to real relationship, it was hard to fully accept that at least that part would stay the same no matter what name Sherlock publicly went as. Would he continue to live here or would he return to Baker Street? Would I stay in this large flat on my own or be on my own to find a new flat to live in?<p>

As these concerns worked their way across my mind I heard the bedroom door slowly open and the sounds of Sherlock as he moved around the room undressing.

"I can hear you in the other room," he said lying beside me.

"I'm sorry," I replied. The brilliant man beside me, while typically clueless on the causes of my moods knew which mood I was in at any time, normally without even being in the same room as me. We stayed silent, simply lying beside each other for some time.

"After… after everything is fixed and you are back to truly being you, what happens then? Do… do things go back to how they were prior, will I just be your pathologist again?" I asked the questions that were floating through my mind.

"Hardly. While, I'd prefer to return to Baker Street, I suppose you could keep the flat if that is what you really want. However with John gone from Baker Street his room can be converted into my study so that the kitchen can be used – by you," Sherlock responded beside me.

"Are you asking me to move with you again?" I asked turning on to my side to see the outline of him in the dark room.

"Mrs. Hudson has never been overly found of pets, but I'm certain I'll be able to convince her to allow Toby," He added.

"Can you ask me normally?" I responded, trying and failing to keep the smile off of my face.

"I already know your answer," He replied. I could hear him rolling his eyes.

"I'm aware, but I'd still like you to ask," I sighed.

"Molly, will you move into Baker Street with me once I have officially cleared my name?" He asked turning his head in my direction.

"Of course," I replied, closing the distance between us.


	12. Chapter 11

_**DISCLAIMER**_ – I forget this all the time but – I own nothing. Please know it applies to the whole story!

**Author's note:** No apologies for the delay between chapters but after this one, I'm planning two and an epilogue, so the wait is nearly over and hopefully will finish within the month? No promises since the past year has seen me living in two countries and a move may soon be on the horizon again. I have part of the next chapter written, but sort of hate where its going so as soon as I figure out a thing or two… it should write itself. Should be the key word. As always, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for dealing with me and the delays between chapters. This again hasn't be BETA'd so all mistakes are mine and I'm sure there are tons.

* * *

><p><strong>Somebody I Used to Know<strong>

_**Chapter 11**_

* * *

><p>The following day was frantically spent looking for a suitable location for John and Mary's reception. While John accompanied us on the location search in the morning, he excused himself to go into work just before lunchtime.<p>

John had found a new job at a hospital on the other side of the city from Barts. With the new job he had also moved out of the Baker Street flat he had shared with Sherlock, simply saying that it no longer felt right to be there.

With John off to work, Mary and I quickly stopped for lunch before moving onto dress shopping. Because of the speed of the engagement, Mary had decided to forgo the traditional wedding dress and instead decided on finding a simple off white dress that feel to just below her knees with matching shoes.

"Are you using Paul's credit cards now?" Mary asked with a smile as I paid for my own dress.

"It's the only card in my wallet. He must have pulled all of mine when I was still asleep this morning," I replied while rolling my eyes. I recognized the card as the same one I had used months ago during our trip to Spain and since then, Sherlock had insisted I keep it for emergencies and in the case of today, when he felt the need for me to use it. After all, he was hardly the type of man to send me flowers, and I accepted that. However he always made certain that if I wanted flowers or anything really, there was a card in my wallet to use. It was yet another odd aspect of our relationship that I had grown use to in the past few months.

It didn't mean he fully understood why I'd want the 'silly plants' as he usually referred to them as but it did show that he was trying to understand me, as much as he could.

"Would you mind if I kept my dress at your flat for the week?" Mary asked as we walked out of the store together. She had gone to stay with John two months previous when her flat had lost hot water and decided not move back once it was fixed.

"Sure, you can just hang it in the closet," I replied as I hailed a cab.

Once we arrived at my flat, I called out for Sherlock, obviously calling him Paul, but received no response.

"Tea?" I asked as we moved further into the flat.

"Of course! Here I'll put these in your closet," She said taking my dress and bag from my hands as I moved into the kitchen to fill the kettle. Once it boiled, I quickly poured the steaming water into the waiting mugs before picking them up and walking in the direction of my room. Mary hadn't come back out and I was curious what could have caught her attention. I quickly ran through the possibilities in my head, hoping that Sherlock or I hadn't left anything odd lying on the floor.

"Mols, how long have you had this?" Mary asked as I walked into the room. I quickly recognized exactly what she was referring to.

"Oh, that, it's just a dress. I bought it in Spain, nothing too special," I replied, oddly hoping she hadn't unzipped it and would take my explanation at face value. While I had told her that Paul and I had gone to Spain at the beginning of the year, I hadn't told her the real reason for our trip and definitely did not tell her about my trip the bridal shop. After all, how would I explain a random wedding dress in my closet? Obviously it was time for me to do so.

"Mols, I recognize this designer. I wanted to try one of their dresses the first time I got married but it was too far out of my budget. They only make wedding dresses, expensive wedding dresses, extremely expensive wedding dresses," She said moving to unzip the bag. I wasn't going to stop her. It was obviously pointless and knowing Mary for as long as I had, I knew I needed to be honest because otherwise she wouldn't believe me. But even then, how could I be honest when it didn't seem it was time yet.

"Oh Molly, this is beautiful!" she said as she pulled it from its bag. The same bag it had stayed in since I had found it at the back of my closet in January.

"They said with the alterations it would fit perfectly," I found myself saying.

"You had it altered even?" Mary asked pulling her eyes from the dress to look at me awkwardly standing in the middle of my room, the two mugs of tea forgotten in my hands.

"It's a sample or an original or something, I think. Although to be honest, I'm not completely certain. I tried it on while in Spain, but it wasn't in my closet until a few weeks after," I said, setting the mugs on my nightstand and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Wedding dresses do not just pop into people's closets, Molly," She said turning back to admire the dress again.

"Obviously," I sighed. "Paul put it there."

"Wait, hold on. You didn't get married in Spain did you?" Mary asked finally setting the dress down gently.

"No, no, of course not," I replied. We hadn't after all. Just faked an engagement.

"Did you get engaged?" She asked. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"We didn't. It… it's complicated. And I promise to explain it all… but can it wait?" I asked. To be far, we didn't even really discuss the fake engagement upon returning to London. Yes our relationship had changed, but that was a Molly and Sherlock situation and not a Molly and Paul situation. And no matter the changes Sherlock's personality had undergone in the past few years, we still didn't focus much on feelings and labels.

Sherlock had said just last night that everything was nearly behind us. He would clear his name within weeks and everyone would no longer be in the dark about what really happened over a year ago. And to be honest, I still didn't fully understand the meaning behind the dress or why Sherlock hadn't canceled the purchase in Spain.

I knew in some ways I was being naïve about the whole situation. Sherlock rarely told me what he did when he disappeared for days, weeks at a time and I didn't ask. The things I imagined in my mind, of him risking his life, were bad enough. I didn't need him to confirm my worries or make them worse. If Sherlock wanted to tell me, then he would, but I wouldn't press him, not while he was still actively in danger each time him left. And if he held a little closer and came home with scratches and cuts he didn't have before, I simply helped him patch himself up and held him closer.

"Molly, It's just a wedding dress, how complicated can it truly be?" She asked. "You didn't turn him down did you?"

"No, of course I didn't," I replied quickly. "I saw the dress while we were in Spain. And from the moment I saw it, I knew, if I ever got married that was it, it was the dress. And you know how Paul can be, he isn't a man of very many words or grand romantic gestures. But even he could tell I was in love with the dress. He made the appointment and sent me there to try it on. A few weeks later, there it was, hanging in my closet."

"But can we focus on your own wedding and not what this dress means?"

Maybe by the time the subject came up again, I'd have a better story to tell. Or least know how it ended.

"You look uncomfortable about the subject, but I suppose if you try it on, I'll let it rest, but not forever!" she replied shaking her head.

I smiled and stood up, taking the dress into my hands before walking into the bathroom. I quickly shed my clothes from the day and slipped into the dress. As promised, it now fit perfectly.

* * *

><p>The morning of the wedding of Mary Morstan to John Watson found me alone in bed. After the first night after Sherlock returned from his three-week absence, he hadn't slept at the same time as me since. In fact, in the past week I had only seen him twice even though there were obvious signs of him coming and going from the flat.<p>

One of the times I had seen him had been in the late afternoon when I returned home for work. I had gone into the bedroom to shower and change and found him lying in the middle of the bed fast asleep. After quickly showering I decided to lay down with him for a short nap. When I woke up, he was gone again.

The second time I had seen him that week was the day before. He was preparing to leave the flat as I returned from a late shift at work. With a quick kiss and my urging for him to be carful, he was out the door.

I was beginning to worry even Paul wouldn't be able to make it to the wedding. Relief for that worry came a few moments later when the bedroom door slowly opened. Sadly, I could smell him as soon as the door began to open as well.

"Have you been rolling in trash again?" I asked, sitting up in bed. "No- shower. Do not take one step closer until you smell better," I quickly added as he moved further into the room.

"No good morning?" he asked, repeating my question from a week earlier.

"Not until you smell better," I replied as I watched him move to the bathroom.

As I heard the shower turn on, my phone's text message tone went off.

_Morning! Headed to the hairdresser's. See you (with coffee?) in half an hour!_

_-Mary_

Glancing at the time I realized I had definitely over slept and the sound of the shower turning on solidified my suspicion I'd be late to meet Mary.

* * *

><p>"This is excruciating," Sherlock said softly from beside me.<p>

I turned and smiled softly at him. In my opinion, the day had been lovely.

"Any chance on reconsidering the wedding present?" I asked.

"No, I'm close, but not there yet. Soon," he said, analyzing the crowd yet again. "It's still not safe for Sherlock Holmes to make a reappearance and John isn't a very good actor. His reaction will leave a mark and afterwards, he won't be able to continue on as if nothing had been revealed to him."

We hadn't had the chance to talk that morning. I quickly jumped into the shower as he exited, the pile of smelly clothes he had been formally wearing were put into a sealed bag and pushed to the corner of room.

The reception had been going on for over two hours and at this point we were sitting off to one side, opposite of the bar.

John and Mary had decided on a nicer bar in the area and had reserved the back room for their reception. It wasn't completely a conventional choice, but it was fitting for their quickly pulled together wedding but still nice enough that it didn't seem too under done. Due to the short notice and that Mary and John both came form small families, the room held less than forty people total with friends of the couple included.

"You want this one day," Sherlock said breaking into my thoughts.

"Hopefully," I replied not wanting to push this subject too far and risk making him uncomfortable.

"We'll want the shock of my return to settle first," he replied. "Maybe I'll be able to go back to solving cases without media attention surrounding us."

"I doubt that, everyone loves a good story," I replied. It was, after all, how all of this had happened in the first place. People love a good story, and when printed in a semi-reliable paper, they believe it.

"I suppose we'll just have to plan it outside of London," he replied.

"This… um… this isn't you trying to propose is it?" I asked worried if my question would ruin the moment.

"No, in the words of John it would be 'not good'. Besides, its not Paul you want to marry one day," he replied. Throughout the conversation we had both been looked forward from our seats at a table in the corner.

"No, I don't think I do," I reassured him as I reached for his hand.

"But first, I need to go away again. Well, not far but I wont be in the flat for a few days, maybe a week or two. I'll also be out of contact. Mycroft will know if something happens and keep you informed," he said finally turning to look at me.

"Whatever your doing, its dangerous," I said narrowing my eyes at him. It was rare that he told me about his trip but even rarer that he didn't keep in direct contact with me.

"It will be," he said leaning in closer.

"I hate that you're telling me now so I don't over react," I sighed and rested my head on his shoulder. "Be careful."

"I can't promise that, not this time." He said with regret in his voice. "But you know that I wont do anything unneeded." He paused briefly before nudging my head with his shoulder so I would look at him directly. "Just know that, this is real and what I plan to come back to."

And it was of course at this tender moment, Mary decided to come stumbling over to our table.

"It's about time to leave and you two have been in this corner for far too long!" She said with a tiny slur in her voice.


	13. Chapter 12

A/n: As always – I own nothing. Thank you to everyone who has kept with this for ages and ages. I love getting all the new alerts of favorites and reviews. We're nearing the end – so keep holding on a little bit longer.

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><p><strong>Someone I Used to Know<strong>

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 12<strong>_

"I don't know how long I'll be gone for sure," Sherlock said as we lay in bed that night after returning from the wedding. "I've arrange with Mycroft that a car will pick you up for work each day and bring you back at the end of your shift. It will be the same driver every time. If it isn't, pretend you forgot something in the flat and call Mycroft immediately."

"Has someone found out that I helped you?" I asked turning to look at his face. This version of him was my favorite. He was calm, a level of calm he rarely reached except for after we had made love, a term I typically found cheesy and over used but the only way to describe what we had just done. Prior to moving to get a better look at him, I had been lying on my side curled into him with my head resting on his chest. One of his hands was absent mindedly running through my hair, the other resting on top of my own hand on his chest.

"Possibly," he said after a long pause. He never lied to me when asked a direct question although I had realized he avoided the subjects when possible if he didn't want to discuss them. My involvement in his suicide was one of those subjects. "A member of the web tried to infiltrate Mycroft's network of employees. He was caught last night but he had passed on information prior to that. He wasn't anyone important and he was caught within days but one of those days I went to discuss things with my brother and he walked into the room during our conversation."

"And I was mentioned?" The idea of the Holmes brothers discussing me worried me slightly. Sherlock barely talked about our relationship with me, I couldn't imagine him being any more open with anyone else, especially his brother.

"You were," he replied. "The direct line to your driver has been programed into your phone. If you need to go anywhere else while I'm away it would be best to have him take you. Avoid leaving here when possible."

* * *

><p>A few days turned into two weeks. Two weeks turned into three.<p>

It was on the first day of the fourth week that John Watson knocked on my door.

He had a worried expression on his face and offered me a tight smile in greeting when I opened the door for him.

"Tea?" I asked as he walked past me to stand nervously in the living room.

"Um, yes, yes please," He mumbled.

I quickly turned on the kettle and pulled two mugs before returning to the other room.

"John, is something wrong? Is it Mary?" I asked, standing in the doorway.

"Have you checked your flat for bugs recently?" he was still standing in the same spot but I could see his eyes sweeping over the various items I had around the room.

"Bugs? Did you see one while I was in the kitchen? The building is a bit old, but they've never been a problem in the past," I replied wondering why the subjects of bugs seemed to have him so rattled.

"Not the insects, the electronic type," he replied turning to me.

"Oh, well I don't know why I'd have any of those either," I replied. In the back of my mind, I knew Sherlock always looked through the flat for changes when he returned from trips and I wouldn't put it past Mycroft to have planted something in the flat in the past few weeks in Sherlock's absence if the threat to me was as serious as Sherlock made it seem.

"This is important, Molly," John replied.

At that moment the kettle began to whistle.

"John, what do you need, what's on your mind?" I asked, ignoring the whistle.

"Bugs Molly, are there any in the flat that could overhear us?"

"None that I know of," I replied truthfully.

He crossed the room so that we were standing inches apart.

"Is Paul actually Sherlock?" he asked in the softest whisper.

I closed my eyes. Had Sherlock been to see John? Or Mycroft?

"H…how… why are you asking?" I replied, also bringing my voice down to a whisper.

"That's a yes?"

I shook my head to confirm.

"Right," he said, taking a step back and running a hand over his face. "We need to… I need… to ask you a few more questions, but first we need to check this room."

"Wait, I'll fix the tea and send a text. It will be quicker," I replied. I left the room and grabbed my mobile from the counter in the kitchen where I had left it when I heard John ring the doorbell.

_J knows. Is the flat safe? – M_

The text was sent to both Mycroft and Sherlock, although I didn't expect a text from the latter.

It didn't take long to receive a reply from both.

_Stay put. There soon. –S _

_Yes. A sweep was run this morning. Do not leave flat. – Mycroft_

I placed my mobile in my pocket before carrying the two mugs of tea into the living room.

"There was a sweep this morning, most likely when I ran for groceries," I said as I handed John a mug. Overall, I had stuck to my promise to Sherlock and hadn't ventured out with out the driver but it seem ridiculous when I just needed a few things from the local Tesco.

We sat in silence for a few moments; John's tea was held in his hand but forgotten already.

"When did you plan to tell me? How long have you known?" he asked after a few minutes, or seconds or hours. I wasn't sure.

"I was hoping it would be soon. I've… I've known the whole time. I… helped him fake the fall. I didn't know the plan from there. But we kept in contact and that is when Sherlock decided it would be best that I start mentioning Paul. It gave me an excuse to leave London from time to time to visit him. We… well Sherlock really, decided a fake relationship was the best cover," I paused noticing John's look of concern. "It didn't stay fake, but um… that's another matter I suppose. He has been in and out of the country throughout the past few months. He has never given me all of the details but checks in from time to time where he is gone by texting. He… Sherlock, left right after your wedding to tie up loose ends and planned to tell you when he returned. Or at least that was the plan. He was only suppose to be gone for a few days but its been nearly a month," I explained.

"I saw him today. He was dressed like Paul; everything was Paul except his hair. It was Sherlock's color, short but the color certainly wasn't what I was use to seeing Paul with. And he certainly doesn't strike me as the type of bloke to dye his hair. He saw me. Eyes went wide, and then got into a black sedan. A sedan I've also been in before. If Mycroft wasn't in the car, that is who he was headed to see," John said. "What I don't understand is how is he alive. I've had my suspicions in the past but I was positive Sherlock was dead and dismissed every indication that told me the opposite. Was that even really him that day? It certainly looked like him, but he didn't have a pulse. And his eyes where open, blank. I've seen death, and that is what he looked like."

"I…" I didn't need to finish. The door opened and quickly slammed shut. In moments Sherlock was standing in the doorway, looking like he had run the entire way from where ever he was. John was correct. His hair was dark again. It looked like he had shaved it all off after the last time I had seen him and was now growing back in in his natural color. The glasses he normally wore when disguised as Paul were absent and his clothing looked more like his preference than Paul's. And while his appearance was far more Sherlock than Paul, the biggest thing that caught my attention was the cut on his cheek, nearly two inches long. It was thin, and looked like a clean cut but still worried me as much as any of the other injuries Sherlock had appeared with. It looked like it would heal without leaving a mark, but I worried about how it had happened.

"Sherlock?" John asked turning to him and standing to get a better look at the taller man.

"Yes," he replied.

The fist impacted with his chin faster than I could process what was happening.

"You bastard," John said rubbing his fist slightly.

"John!" I said leaping from my seat and standing between the two men. I quickly reached for Sherlock's face. Checking that the punch didn't re-open the cut on his cheek nor did it do any other damage. Sherlock for his part stood in silence and bent slightly to allow me a closer look at his face.

"How old is this cut?" I asked, lightly running a finger over it.

"A few days," he replied, looking over my head at what I assumed was a still disgruntle John Watson.

"Any other injuries?" I asked trying to see if he showed any strain in how he stood or if any other cuts or bruises were visible. I had had my back to him when he walked in and hadn't had the chance to see if he was moving differently.

"Molly, I think the exam can wait," Sherlock said before wincing as I ran a hand over his rib cage.

"Again? You can't keep bruising your ribs!" I said noting this rib injury was on the opposite side as it was nearly a year before.

"Molly, please, stop," he said placing his hands over mine to stop my examination of him. At the moment, my hands had been pulling on his button down shirt to get a closer look at the bruising. I had half the buttons undone before my hands were stilled. "You can exam me as closely as you need to later, for now we need to duck."

"Wha-" my question went unanswered as I was pulled to the ground as bullet broke through the window and imbedded itself in the wall directly behind where we had been standing. I glanced to me side to see John had also moved to the floor as a few more bullets came into the room.

"Why is someone shooting at the flat?" I asked as we quickly moved further into the kitchen.

"That would be Moran. He was the last loose end," Sherlock replied. "Lestrade and the City police should have him in custody now."

The shooting had stopped as we entered the kitchen and once saying the shooter, Moran, was in custody. Sherlock stood, slowly, and pulled out his phone from his pocket.

"It's done."

"Are you going to explain, or are you going to assume I'll figure it out?" John asked, still sitting on the floor. Irritation obvious in his voice.

"Maybe it would be better to move out of the kitchen? Or at least off the floor? Were any of the chairs damaged? I can make tea again. Sherlock, do you need to speak with the police before they leave? Should I text Mary?" I was rattling things off as I moved to make tea and shot worried glances at both men.

"Molly, stop talking," Sherlock said from his spot glancing up from his phone.

"Right sorry. Not every day someone shoots at the flat," I replied as John scolded him with "Sherlock!"

With a shake of his head, Sherlock crossed the room to stand beside me before dropping a kiss on the top of my head. "Tea would be wonderful. Is there something to eat as well? John and I'll be in the other room. I've sent the City Police and Met everything they'll need."

After sitting fresh tea out for the pair and giving Sherlock a sandwich, I quickly looked around the room at the damage. There were a few bullet holes in the wall behind where we had stood seconds before the bullets hit. The window was shattered and the chair we had originally ducked behind had what looked like two bullet holes as well. I noticed neither man sat in the seat, opting instead to sit on either side of the couch.

I continued to look around at a loss of what to do next. Should I stay in the room with the two as they discussed the past few months, or did I retreat to a different room to allow the friends time to catch up?

My decision came in the form of a knock at the door. I crossed the room to answer it and found Mycroft and his assistant waiting on the other side of the door.

"Come in," I said in greeting. They followed me back into the sitting room where John and Sherlock were sitting. As Mycroft moved to face the two men, I moved to stand beside Sherlock. He reached for my hand and tugged me down to sit in the newly created space on the sofa.


	14. Chapter 13

A/N: Next chapter! And better news – chapter 14 nearly ready as well (and by nearly ready I mean I plan to write it tonight and have it up next week). As always, I own nothing. Thank you to everyone who has been sticking with me through this. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. Depending on how 14 goes, there will be 15-16 chapters total so we are super close! Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Someone I Used to Know<strong>

_**Chapter 13**_

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><p>"New details are coming to light today in the shooting that happened in a North London apartment block last week. The shooting gained worldwide attention when it was revealed that the intended target was Sherlock Holmes, the self titled Consulting Detective thought to have committed suicide over a year ago."<p>

BBC news was on the break room television as I walked in for a fresh cup of coffee. I paused to listen to the rest of the report.

"Mr. Holmes has declined to comment on how he escaped death when jumping from the roof of St. Batholomew's Hospital and has also refused to speak about how he spent his time after being pronounced dead.

"What is known, is that a man, identified as Sebastian Moran, was taken into custody and charged with the shooting. Mr. Moran has also been charged with multiple counts of conspiracy to commit a terrorist act. His lawyer has denied all charges.

"Later in the program, we will look at the article, key details now proven to be false, about Mr. Holmes that led to him faking his own death."

As the female anchor began to discuss other top stories, I moved towards the waiting coffee pot before leaving the room.

After the shooting, Mycroft had quickly briefed us on what the official report would say about the incident. I was also informed that the apartment we had been living in was not in either my or Sherlock's names as I had thought. Rather, the flat I had signed for was two stories down and on the opposite side of the building. The flat we had been in was instead in the name of a various alias of Sherlock's he had used while tracking down Moran. It was this name that eventually led Moran to Sherlock's 'hiding' position.

My things, and some of Sherlock's (or at least Paul's) where then quickly moved into the flat actually in my name. The small mystery of where my old furniture had gone was also solved as I entered the only bedroom to find my bed from my old flat sitting in the corner of the room.

One of the key points Mycroft had made clear was that my involvement in everything would be carefully concealed and the press would never hear a peep about it. In the meantime, I was expected to avoid our former flat in favor of the smaller one and interaction with Sherlock had been limited to two texts in the past few days. As far as my co-workers were concerned, it was yet another weird coincidence that I live in the same building as the shooting, but nothing more. Instead I had more important things happening in my life – like my break up with Paul who had officially taken a job abroad and didn't think a long distance relationship would be wise.

I supposed this was to ease the transition from my dating incognito Sherlock to dating the real one publically but I had my doubts since I hadn't actually seen the man in the past week. He hadn't even stopped by the hospital for the case I knew he was working on. If he had, it wasn't during any of my shifts.

The texts I received where simple and straightforward. Information about things being moved around in the flat and from the larger shared flat two stories up. But there was no word on the discussed move to Baker Street although I knew that was where Sherlock was staying if the press photos of him entering and exiting the residence were anything to go by.

I had also gathered that he a John where speaking, but not very much. A photo had run in the Mail yesterday of Sherlock looking around south London and John, as the caption was all too happy to point out, was noticeably missing. He had been photographed entering and exiting Baker Street, but didn't look very happy at the time.

These thoughts where paused as I recognized a familiar head bent over a high powered microscope in the room I had been in before my quick coffee run.

"Ah, Molly. Good coffee," he said looking up at me as I entered the room.

"It's mine," I replied still setting it beside him as I came to a stop beside him.

"Hmm," he mumbled before taking a quick gulp of the contents before looking back into the microscope. He wrote something on the paper on the other side before turning his full attention to me. "There is milk in that."

"I know. It's my coffee," I replied trying to keep the small smile off my face. I was annoyed with him. I had barely seen him in ages and the last time we had been in the same room we had both nearly been shot.

And now he was drinking my coffee and acting like it was any other day in the lab before the fall.

"These results will be ready in fifteen minutes. Text them to me," he said standing up and grabbing his scarf and coat from beside him before finishing the coffee.

"Sherlock!" I said as I watched him cross the room and leave.

Then he was gone without a word. I tried my best to explain his behavior to myself as just an obsession with a very good case. But was the case really that exciting he couldn't spare just a moment for me?

* * *

><p>The following day I met with Mary for lunch. The place was halfway between the hospital and the uni that Mary taught at. It was a cycle themed coffee shop and while neither of us where cycle enthusiast, they had a pie I absolutely loved to get. We had met there multiple times and we were regulars, trying to meet about once a week when classes where in session for her.<p>

When I arrived, Mary was already sitting at a table in the middle of the room.

I greeted her as my normal cheerful self, but my run in with Sherlock from the day before was still weighing heavily on my mind and I soon learned she too was worried about recent actions of the newly returned consulting detective.

"Have you seen him since the shooting?" Mary asked once we had I had placed my order and taken my seat. Obviously John had filled his wife in on what had happened that day.

"I saw him yesterday," I replied. "He was on a case yesterday and he came in to test a few samples, ask for me to text him the results."

"But have you actually seen him?" Mary asked. "John mentioned that the two of you seemed like a couple even when he saw you that day. But he, and I, are worried. John, especially, knows what Sherlock can be like. John is worried that Sherlock was just keeping up the guise because of whatever your involvement in everything was."

"Mary, he wasn't dating me because he owed me something," I replied even though in recent days I had begun to wonder just that.

"John knows you helped with the fall in some way, but Sherlock refuses to comment on it. He won't even tell John how he did it and expects things to just return to normal," she paused as my coffee was placed in front of me. "John is furious to be honest, but not really at you. I think he understands that this was a secret that needed to be just that. Or, at least, that's what he has said to me."

"Is that why he wasn't with Sherlock yesterday?" I asked. "I suppose I assumed that if Sherlock was back to taking casing, John would be with him."

"John understands why Sherlock lied to him, but he isn't ready to forgive him just yet and has refused to be at Sherlock's beck and call," Mary said with a slight look of pride on her face.

"I'm sure he is just busy with things," I said looking out the window over Mary's shoulder. "We've gone days, weeks even, without much communication. He most likely has a good reason. Sherlock never does anything without a purpose and he certainly never does anything he doesn't want to."

"But that is the thing, I know you Molly and while I love you as a sister, you can be a complete push over and a bit of an idiot at times," Mary said.

"Excuse me?" I asked, now with my full and complete attention focused on the woman in front of me.

"I'm just worried Sherlock continued the relationship with you because it was a convenient link to keep tabs on his old life. Now that he is back to being himself, he may not see a point in continuing things. I'm worried you are going to let yourself get hurt and worse, just wait around for him to call." Mary explained.

"Mary, I know you are married and think everyone should be happy and what not, but I went into a relationship with Sherlock knowing things weren't always going to be simple. But I trust him. He made promises to me," I said looking down at my newly arrived food. "I can't say that I haven't been worried in the past few days and seconded guessed things, but I have to trust him. I appreciate your and John's concern, honestly."

"But for the time being you are going to ignore us and keep waiting for Sherlock to turn up at your door and beckon you to him," Mary said.

"I suppose I am," I replied. I paused before saying anything else. "I love him. He loves me."

"And you are certain?" She asked.

"There was a night a few months ago, he had been gone for a few days doing whatever it was he needed to do when he disappeared for days at time. It was midday and I was at the flat, sitting on the couch and reading a medical journal. He walked in and looked completely knackered. He always came home in various states, and this time was no difference. While he was dressed nicer than most times, the clothes he had on where dirty and had a few rips in them. I could tell he hadn't shaved in days.

"He paused beside me, kissed the top of my head and then kept walking towards the bedroom. I followed him in and pushed his smelly body away from the bed when he tried to collapse there, I had just changed the sheets earlier that day.

"'Go shower first,' I said pushing lightly towards the bathroom. He winced but moved in that direction. I've said that to him so many times when he comes back. It's almost my own code for hello.

"I pulled fresh clothes out for him and put them in the bathroom for him and then went back to the living room to grab the journal I had been reading. I sat in the middle of the bed and a few minutes later he came back into the room, this time clean and smelling like his normal self.

"He laid down beside me and pulled the book out of my hand before pulling me closer to him. He fell asleep quickly, but it was the two words he mumbled before drifting off that made the moment stand out.

"'Love you' he said. At that point, he'd never said the words and a part of me wondered if he realized what he was saying. Before that, he had always just said 'I mattered' or 'I was important' and up until that point it was enough. I knew my feelings, I knew I was in love with him before any of this even began but I also knew he wasn't like most other men and speaking about feelings to him was a foreign and unneeded concept in his life.

"But as I lay there, him sound asleep beside me, I knew I couldn't expect to hear him say it over and over and often. It was a rare moment of weakness and while he more than likely meant it, questioning him or expecting him to say it often would nullify its meaning.

"Mary, our relationship isn't about words. Sherlock is the smartest man I've ever met, but he doesn't see the point in wasting time discussing things he finds to be obvious. For him, his feeling for me, at least between us, is an obvious thing. He doesn't need to vocalize it because its just a given. I'm not saying it isn't nice to hear from time to time, but at the very least, I wont make him justify himself to others."

The rest of out lunch was tense. We had reached an impasse and I could only imagine how Mary thought this conversation would go. But no matter my doubts, I needed to have confidence in my relationship. I needed to remember that the moments we had shared in the past year were real and that none of it, at least not the moments between just us, especially after our trip to Spain, were fake. Sherlock had a plan, he always has a plan, and there was a reason for this radio silence.

There had to be a reason.

And that reason had better be a damn good one.


	15. Chapter 14

_A/n at the end._

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><p><strong>Someone I Used To Know<strong>

_**Chapter 14**_

It was another four days before I saw him again. This time it wasn't at Bart's.

I had just closed the front door and was in the process of hanging my coat when there was a knock at the door. Wondering who it could be I looked through the peep hole and was greeted by the sight of Sherlock holding a bag of takeaway from my favorite Thai place.

Sighing, I opened the door I had closed moments before and positioned myself in the doorway, blocking his entrance.

"I'd rather not have this discussion in the hall," he said in greeting. "And the food will go cold if we don't eat it soon."

"We? The food is coming inside, but I'm uncertain about you," I replied. I was going to be strong. I was going to be strong and I was going to not let him in… right away.

"Prior to the events that lead to my fake death, I was known for keeping to myself and rarely being seen with people beyond John or Lestrade," He said with a slight huff, the bag of food nearly forgotten at his side. "I don't want questions to be asked about your involvement. They will be, but I'd prefer they be dismissed quickly. I've photographers and journalists around me nearly constantly since the shooting, I needed them to lose interest."

"And in the mean time what? You were worried they where taping your phone as well? You couldn't even send a text to say, oh sorry for popping off the other day so quickly, will sneak by yours later?" I asked. "And even then, I'm use to you going off for periods of time, even doing dangerous things, and I haven't forced you in to discussing them when you didn't want to. I've simply patched you up, made sure you ate and slept and stayed healthy while you went on this revenge trip."

The food dropped to the floor and Sherlock moved closer to me.

"I was caught up in everything," He said resting a hand on my waist. "I have missed you. But while trying to make sure no one asked questions about you I forgot that you most likely missed me too and I went back on my word to at least keep in contact with you when I can't be beside you."

His other hand cupped my cheek as he pulled me closer. We were both standing in the hallway as I slowly moved my arms to wrap around his waist.

"I can't always forgive you easily," I said.

"You could," he replied leaning forward so our foreheads touched.

"I can't," I replied. "I had to defend you to Mary the other day. So many of her questions echoed every doubt I have in my head. We were nearly shot and then you disappear with your brother to reappear in every newspaper in the country. Then a week later you appear at Bart's and rather than saying even a simple hello, you drink my coffee and ask for me to text test results to you. Nothing else. No hello. No asking how I am. No telling me about how you are," I paused and as he is about to respond I hold up my hand to stop him. "Mary and John think you were using me. Are you, was everything just part of your plan and now that you are back to being… to being you, I'm no longer needed? Do you want things to go back to how they where before? Because If you are going to break my heart, I'd rather you just get on with it."

"I want things to return to how they where previous," he replied and I tried to move away at his words but he quickly pulled me even closer to him. "But I still want you there beside me. I… I love you. And more importantly, I don't want to return to not having you to come home to."

I sighed and closed me eyes, moments later I felt lips against mine and I couldn't help but kiss him back. It was a rare vulnerable moment for him. The hesitation in his words alone, spoke volumes to me. And saying the love word was something he didn't think was strictly necessary. These moments were so few, could I really deny him when he was trying his best to open his heart to me? Could I push him out of my arms because I was annoyed that he hadn't texted in a few days?

I couldn't. Maybe I should have but I couldn't.

"The food is getting cold," I said as we broke apart at the sound of his stomach. "And you have obviously not eaten in awhile."

"You are having one of your mothering moments again," he said, rubbing his hands along my sides.

"I am. Lets go inside and eat. You also smell like you could use a shower. Then maybe I'll let you continue what you are trying to start," I said with a teasing smile.

"The food can be reheated," he said before being interrupted by his stomach once again.

I shook my head and quickly retrieved the bag at our feet. "You are like a teenager at times," I said with a shake of my head and small giggle.

* * *

><p>I was woken from the best sleep I had experienced in weeks as Sherlock's phone began buzzing on the nightstand beside the bed. I tried to ignore it, but it kept going off. I glanced at the sleeping man beside me.<p>

It had obviously been awhile since he had slept last and from our conversation last night over dinner, he revealed he had come straight here after wrapping the case he had been working on.

And while at times he could be an extremely light sleeper, when he had gone too long without sleep he tended to sleep deeply and disturbing him was practically pointless.

As the phone began to go off for the third time, I untangled an arm from Sherlock and reached for the buzzing phone.

DI Lestrade flashed on the screen. It was obviously important if he had called three times in a row now. With a sigh, I swiped at the screen to answer.

"Sherlock, there has been a triple homicide, one in three separate flats and all of the entrances to the flats where locked and un-tampered with. There is blood but no murder weapon in sight. There's no way they could have killed each other." Lestrade rattled off.

"Greg, hold on," I said. Pulling my other arm free from Sherlock to rub my eyes.

"Wait, who is this?" he replied.

"Molly, Molly Hooper. Sherlock is asleep."

"And you are answering his phone at three forty five in the morning because…" I could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Greg, he just finished his last case last night. He hasn't stopped for over a month; can't you let the poor man sleep for a night? Has Scotland Yard missed him so terribly that you need him on every case?"

As I finished my sentence the phone was pulled from my hand. I glance over to see that Sherlock hadn't really moved except to pull the phone from me and move it to his own ear.

"Lestrade, I distinctly remember telling you yesterday that the incompetence of the Yard would need to wait another week for my help. Look into the window cleaning company," He growled into the phone. The call was ended and the phone was tossed the floor.

Watching him, Sherlock ran his now empty hand through his hair.

"It's slowly growing back to normal," I mused moving so that we were eye level again and sharing a pillow. I moved a hand to also ruffle it.

"Is that really what you want to discuss at the moment?" he asked, pulling me closer to him. "Last I checked we are naked and in bed for the first time in over a month. Discussing my hair or answering calls from Lestrade isn't really how I'd prefer to spend it."

"I suppose you have a better idea?"

"Indeed, five, no six ideas actually," he replied before quickly closing the distance between us.

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><p><em>An:_ And that is it! I finished it! Thank you to everyone who has been following, review and liking the story! It kept me going and always made me feel guilty in between chapters that I wasn't updating quickly enough! I'm hoping to write a one shot/epilogue in the next week or two to tie up any lose ends left or questions left unanswered. If you have any suggestions or questions please leave them in a review or message! I can tell you that as of now I plan to call it 'Lace Dresses and Miscommunications'.

Once again, thank you for all of the support! It's been amazing!


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